Wisher Beware

I am beginning to suspect that the state of mental dissonance is becoming a new norm for me. During introductions, Irje asked me how old I am. I couldn’t answer. Something so mundane was apparently beyond my mental grasp. Not because of any lack of arithmetical skills, like Irje assumed, but due to the sheer quantity of years now present in my mind, most of them still cloudy. For me, the question was as complex as precisely answering how many steps I’ve taken in my entire life.

But on the other hand - math. All these musings about age, data and arithmetics stirred yet another facet of knowledge within me. However, while others were inherently limited by the lack of visual background, the math simply wasn’t. Any visual parts were derivative from the most basic components, thus allowing my brain to generate them from scratch if necessary. It actually gave me a new appreciation for the other morsels of information that nanites have been slowly installing into my brain.

“…Erf and Yeva will be washing the fabrics,” Irje’s strong voice interrupted my musings. Apparently, I will be working with the silent blond girl from the caravan, who would have thought. “While Sela and Yao will work at the dying vats.”

I glanced at the other two girls, that Irje managed to appropriate. Like me and Yeva they looked young. I wonder if Irje has an eye for young help, she is definitely friendly to all of us, especially me and Yeva. Neither wanted to participate in the conversation, however, most likely still being apprehensive about the new place. Or amusing themselves with their own thoughts like I did.

“We will only perform a single job?” I said, breaking off her monologue.

“Yep!” Irje instantly perked up, “You are from the farms, right?”

I nodded, “Farm slaves often ask the same question?”

“They do, they are also more lively than the usual newcomers,” she said. “Anyway. This is not a farm but the rules are strict. While you only have one job to do, it is usual that it would take you most of the day to finish it. If you do your job right, you will have longer breaks; slack off, and you will get lashes.”

She wasn't just welcoming but stern too. In hindsight something like this is to be expected, you can’t be just a friendly supervisor and not have someone abuse that friendship.

XXX

Few days have passed since then. While I had a single job, I started off doing only parts of it by assisting other slaves. I was actually surprised that such a large villa had a dedicated work area, I expected something like this to be outsourced to the multitudes of workshops in poorer parts of Samat. My questions revealed a peculiar tidbit: every Manor family had a monopoly on a specific trade or job. Like managing a city. Or, in my case, being responsible for luxury textiles.

Most of the wealth in this house came from buying cheap unprocessed fabrics and yarn, cleaning it, dyeing, and then selling it with a ludicrous markup. And all that was done with cheap, mostly unskilled labour. Truly, whoever came up with this idea was shrewd. The Manor most likely bought or even employed artisans to further expand the business, but they were likely few and would still act like powerful wealth multipliers to an already lucrative cash cow.

I smiled, carrying the water yet again now for the washing basins, this was good. With my slowly expanding knowledge, I held no doubts that I could make an appropriate ‘invention’ that could quickly propel me from the ranks of unskilled labour to an artisan. I poured the water. They were much wealthier and were held in high regard. Many even owned slaves themselves while still being a slave.

Grabbing the bolt of woollen fabric, I tried to recall how they made it at the farm. As far as I could tell they had very basic looms, gravity-assisted and static, with people doing most of the work. Most of the cloth was made this way, and automating some of the processes would make fabric faster, or even of better quality. I needed to ponder more about it. My mind knew that it was possible but the precise schematics escaped my grasp.

I had a sinking feeling, that this was due to the fact that the knowledge within me considered all this technology as outright ancient. Forget electricity, they didn't even have steam power!

I grabbed the soap and frowned. No wonder it was only used for clothes, this vile concoction was gooey and foul. I cringed but decided to taste it anyway - not out of some masochistic tendencies, but to test for pH. Yuck. Yep, as I suspected, it was also alkaline. Not only they have used some rancid animal fat but also overloaded it with wood ash. Think of the slaves, it is not enough that it just works. Ratios people! Learn them, use them, and stop making garbage products like this!

They probably didn't even know what chemistry was.

“You know you won’t die from this, right?” Large yellow eyes looked into mine.

The jar of ‘soap’ fell on the ground. “Irje! You’ve startled me.”

“Don't, you will end up puking it out and only going to get sick for a while.”

I waved her off, “It’s not that. I am just concerned how shitty this thing is, does Sulla buy the soap from some sort of a fraud?”

“What do you mean, it is a normal soap,” she frowned, “Or are you talking about the expensive soaps from the north? How mad are you to think we will use these for work.”

“Let me guess these are imported from far away, usually much harder and don't burn your skin if you use it long enough?”

“You talk like you know a lot about it,” she said squinting her eyes.

I smiled ambiguously at her, “Well, I know just enough.”

She matched my smile with a grin of her own.

Suffice to say, I didn't waste this opportunity to convince her into helping me out. She agreed surprisingly easy, however.

And so Irje and I started on our task of improving the soap. I wasn’t worried about her stealing my ideas, even if she did, there were plenty of recipes, and we had to contend with the bare minimum anyway. The lye made from ash was also extremely inconsistent, which made my participation much more important, the ability to taste test was invaluable in setting proper ratios.

Not that Irje was just an observer either. While she was my sole connection to the rest of the household, she had more than pulled her weight by getting the materials and tools. She obtained ash from the slaves manning the basement furnaces, and tallow from the kitchens. She was even able to acquire glass bowls to avoid the damage from the caustic lye.

Unfortunately, we still had to do our tasks as all this experimentation was consuming our free time.

Yet another thing I was grateful for.

“Y’know Irje,” I said while stirring the mixture.

“Hmmmm?” she responded behind my back.

“While I am extremely grateful, but what made you invest so much time and effort into this?”

A hand ruffled my hair. “You mean apart from you knowing what you are talking about?”

I tried shaking her hand off while continuing to mix. I failed.

“Yes, apart from that, I could have just been telling lies.” I huffed with annoyance.

The hand stopped for a second and then continued the molestation.

“Because you aren’t stupid. Because I know what you want.”

Okay, dangerous territory here, “What I want?”

The hand moved away.

“Freedom,” she said walking around the pot looking into it. “All your lies could’ve achieved were uncountable lashes and my disdain. And I would make sure you wouldn’t like either.”

She glanced at me. “And your truth could earn you not just money, to get yourself free, it would earn you a better status.”

“Why would the status be that important?” The mix was slowly turning into a pudding, “also take a look at this texture, this is the time you would want to put it into a hot bath.”

“Because freedom isn't guaranteed.” She helped me move the bowl, her voice impassive like she was talking about the weather. “With your skills being known, your price of freedom would also grow. Domina would also have to agree to let you go. And, if she does, there are always shady individuals trying to earn a quick coin with illegal slave trading”

Huh. Apparently, even countries with legalized slavery can have that.

She continued, “But if this works, you will most likely be too important to use for something like warming your master’s bed, or breaking your back lifting things all day.”

I sent her a grateful smile. “Thanks.”

“Besides, you do realize I expect to be paid for my work here?” she raised her eyebrow.

“But of course, you will be paid beyond the knowledge I provide,” I jokingly bowed, making her huff. “Considering it would be you, who will present it to Domina first, it is me who is hoping to be paid in the end.”

“Well, that is, in itself, a risk.” She said.

I frowned. “Is she that kind of character?”

“No. If she was, I wouldn't have bothered with this affair anyway.”

As I’ve said before - I was lucky to have her as my supervisor.

XXX

It took us a few tries to consistently make proper soap. It is surprising how such a simple process could easily go wrong. Working on it made me appreciate the actual inventors even more. They had to wander blind into this, while I had a map and a compass and still stumbled through.

Irje was happy with our results and, I suspect, from having her trust in me validated. But we both agreed with some reluctance that this wasn’t enough. Soap was still a niche product. Even without a rancid smell and hard effect on the hands, it would be only used for washing clothes at most. The populace at large still treated soap as an industrial-only product. As such while our skills would be recognized, they wouldn't be noteworthy. And it would be mostly used by slaves, as such many masters didn't care as long as it worked.

I didn’t despair for I already had my eye on something more. A fancy soap. Rich with flavours and made from plant oils instead of rendered fat. A luxury product. Something that is already known by the wealthy and imported from elsewhere. My first goose laying golden eggs.

For that, I needed better reagents. Better, cleaner oils. While we used our soap stockpile to obtain more materials, some were hard to find. Wood ash was okay but wasn't the best. And I had no idea what alchemists here called soda ash.

“Is there are any glass-makers that make clear glass?” I said out loud.

Beside me, Yeva flinched at my non sequitur. I quietly said “Sorry” to her. Other slaves were working further away from us, but they paid us little attention. I haven’t even learnt their names yet. Their standoffish demeanour was apparent since Irje, for some unknown reason, was obviously treating newcomers better than the rest. And it was further directed at me for my rapport with her.

My soap had placated them somewhat, but only so much. Instead of glares they simply ignored me now, which was fine by me.

“You are trying to go into glass-making?” Irje responded nonchalantly, correctly assuming I was talking to her.

“Nothing so ambitious, I just need something that they might use.”

“Stop dreaming about weird ideas, These are rare and only sold by merchants” She waved me off.

I thanked her and sighed inwardly. So much for that, I guess. Worst comes to worst this is a city close to the sea, I should be able to get some from the kelp at least. Who knows I might eventually expand into glass-making, although I wasn't sure that I would need the money that much to spend so much effort on it. Perhaps use it as a bargaining chip down the line.

“Umm, you are Erf, right?” now it was Yeva’s voice that startled me from my thoughts.

I smiled back at her and, seeing the lack of response, mentally smacked myself. “Yes that’s me, how can I help you?” I kept forgetting that these blue eyes of her were blind. No wonder she let her curls hang freely down her face quite often.

“I wanted to thank you, for the soap.”

“Don’t worry about it. I couldn’t stand the smell and hoarding it to myself would’ve brought me nothing but trouble.”

Blind slaves were rare. These, who were born blind, usually didn’t survive. It was more likely that she lost her sight fairly recently, and got sold off as a result. Considering she and I were bought together it showed how cheap my price was. Luckily Irje took good care of her, I’ve seen them walking around letting Yeva memorize the layout of the work area. She also was very good at washing, since we weren’t cleaning the stains but the leftover animal oils and other residues, her improved sense of touch helping her feel the grease.

“It wasn’t just the smell for me, I was afraid my hands would numb as well,” her voice was just a whisper now.

Since she wasn’t doing other things, she was washing all the time instead, turning her arms red. I didn’t want to imagine what keeping your hands submerged for hours in the diluted lye would do to them. Especially for her, who already lost one of her senses.

I gently touched her elbow. “You are welcome, then. I am glad to have been of assistance and you could ask for it again, anytime.” Kindness was rare among the slaves, with everyone looking out for themselves. I didn’t want to contribute to that myself.

She fidgeted for a bit. “You talk oddly, are you from far away? Is that why Irje likes you?”

I rubbed my chin in thought. “Do I, really? I was raised on the farm eight days away from here, on foot. Can’t tell if that is far away enough since that is the furthest I’ve been so far.” Yeva twitched at the sudden loss of contact and I quickly put my hand back. Touch was an important way for her to tell that I was still around.

“That’s probably far enough” she conceded.

“About Irje. I think it’s mainly because we are working together. Because we both contribute to a common cause we are invested in we subconsciously… err, we have a gut feeling that other’s company is helpful.”

“So, it is because you both have something to give…” She said sullenly.

“That is in our case, yes. But it doesn't need to be that way. Sometimes even a willing listener is more than enough.”

She turned to me. “Will you?” her intentions were rather clear.

I patted her arm. “Don't worry, we are in this together.” Humans are social creatures and Yeva had spent an awful amount of time isolated. It was no wonder that she would grab this chance once the ice was finally broken.

We moved on to our work, occasionally speaking to each other. I tried to keep my words short but would slip up occasionally, she took it in stride, however, and would instead ask for an explanation. Sadly, life gave the worst cards to better people. I could've cured her blindness eventually if I had enough nanites to share. I didn't consider myself so altruistic to do anything right now, however. Performing something like this could easily get me persecuted or, even worse, experimented upon. Not only that, but the amount infused into me was at the absolute bare minimum and, as such, critically low.

The storage apple contained just enough to jump-start the process. It would be my actions in the future to see it continue. The progress was going fortunately smoothly, with constant meals throughout the day, I finally got myself out of the starvation phase. The nanites were still improving my strength, but now that the body itself didn’t fight them for resources they could do it more efficiently. Which meant I could reallocate some of them for targeted body modification.

Possibilities were endless.

It was late evening by the time I finished taking stock of the internal workings of my body, with everyone asleep or close to it. As I suspected, my body was healthy with an apparent increase in many aspects like flexibility. Unfortunately, all the stretches and exercises made me sweaty. I sniffed my shirt. Yep. Disgusting. Having one set of undergarments was bad and this made it worse. Luckily, I had access to something that would clean me and my clothes without making my nose fall off from revulsion. The nights were chilly enough that I would have to put my tunic on but warm enough to have my shirt dry in the morning.

Decision made, I headed back to the washing vats, humming to myself. I was beginning to take control of my life and it did wonders to my mood. I inhaled the evening air, the breeze fresh on my skin. I smiled. It was so easy to forget the air existed when you were tired, busy, or burdened with heavy thoughts. It was just something you did not to die. It was in such moments of peace and calm that minute fragrances came out. I threw my shirt into the vat and splashed the water on myself, taking in the crisp air. It contrasted nicely with the salty freshness of the nearby sea, the thin fragrance of trees, and an earthy smell of smoke.

I let my worries wash away like the grime from my skin.

I took my shirt and washed it well, using the soap I’ve made. There was something alluring in not just using your own tools, but the tools made by your hand.

I took in the noises of the night.

The night replied to me with the buzzing of the bugs, the flutter of the wings, and the rustling of the grass.

And Irje’s hiss.

“Wait. You are a boy?”

I looked at her askance, the moment broken. I followed her gaze down between my legs and back to her face again, unsure what to say to something so obvious.

“Yes?”