The Slime Farmer 22 A Life's Work 1 of 2

Defi didn't look up from the pile of fallen zaziphos fruit he was sorting. He grunted noncommittally.

"Then you rented out old Berka's bedroom." Sarel eyed the tree they were both under casually. "When you have a cottage you bought so suddenly?"

Defi hummed a non-answer. He placed both Lar and Mal in the basket full of damaged zaziphos, letting them eat at their leisure. He moved to the other side of the tree, and started picking up more fallen fruit and carefully examining them.

Sarel threw up her hands silently, then started to sort zaziphos as well. She frowned at a hole in the fruit she was inspecting. "Merel was worried her hospitality was lacking."

That got Defi to pause. His actions would, in fact, have given his hosts that sort of impression. He sighed. He hadn't really been thinking. "Not at all. I will apologize later."

Sarel peered around the tree at his form. "Something wrong with the place?"

Defi's shoulders slumped at Sarel's insistence. "No."

Sarel studied him, the defiant cast to his jaw, the drooping shoulders. She turned and leaned back against the tree, rolling a zaziphos fruit between her palms, eyes cast distant against the far horizon. "Food is essential to the soul of Ascharon, do you know?"

Defi briefly lifted his brow at the tree trunk that separated them, not stopping his sorting. If he did not know by now, he was the blindest idiot in two worlds.

"My father was a cook at the imperial palace in Carmedel. Never rose above third chef though. It's a particularly precarious rank, high enough to be greatly coveted, low enough that it is just on the cusp of the imperial family's attention. Father always came home exhausted, having to defend from the suspicious chefs above maintaining their places and the ambitious chefs below attempting to increase their rank. He just wanted to cook."

Defi was silent as Sarel gathered her thoughts.

"I was invited to the imperial chef examination. I refused." Sarel's lips lifted at the edges, humorless. "I would not become Father, who withered in the imperial kitchens, who subjected himself to over a decade of abuse. For what? It was only years later that I realized I had hated my father. That I, his own child, feared his fate enough to deny myself everything that was his life."

Defi's hands stilled, his face blanked.

"I refused three invitations to the imperial examinations before I was informed that a fourth refusal would have consequences I would not be able to escape." Sarel laughed lowly at the self she had been in the past. "Though at the time I felt like I was being caged, even as I was forced to play their politics, even after I've been driven from the imperial kitchens like a stray dog, I found that I could not regret taking the examinations."

Sarel smiled at the blue afternoon sky. "My father only ever wanted to cook. Now, I understand him more than I ever did when he was alive."

They were silent, the smiling woman leaning against tree with her face to the sky, the weeping boy kneeling on the grass with his face bent to the ground. The only sound, for a long while, was the river-cooled breeze rustling the leaves of zaziphos trees. The pleasant scent of fruit and flower curled around the scene, as if the land was cradling it with the arms of the wind.

*

*

Sorza, mayor of the Lowpool, put down the report. "Is there news from Kaska yet?"

"He said the smuggler Derwain didn't appear to be part of a larger organization, but had agreements with a few underground families in the north. He's waiting on several of his contacts still."

"That's one thing to not worry about."

Her secretary put down another report. "This is the review on most of the people involved in the incident."

"Anything interesting?"

"There are people not on the last census, but all of them appear to be harmless. There are a few that may be problems in the future. A former rebel named Emra has made contact with Natanel in the docks. He recognized her."

Sorza sighed. "She knows how to be discreet, or she would've been caught in the five years since she left the border. And Natanel is more likely to consult with Orain before he reports her. On this issue, it's best we do nothing at the moment."

"A young man of unknown background calling himself Defi has acquired what remains of the Garge homestead. It appears he was reluctant. It ties into Messer Kern disappearing and Madam Leraine following."

"Unknown background?"

"He was first noticed helping deliver Sarel's usual. He sold a seakrait skeleton days before the attack on the docks and his slimes...ate three of the six attacking seakraits. If you remember, lady mayor, he accompanied the young miss Erlaen that morning."

She did remember the two young people who triggered the cloud of sleeping elixir. Who knew it could be made into a bomb? Luckily for her stress levels, Lemat and Aire had assured her it was not something just anyone knew how to do. "That's a somewhat remarkable list of accomplishments for someone of unknown background, don't you think?"

"The report on him has a few notable speculations. I would bring your attention to the events in Minetown and Stahlchausses a fortnight before his appearance with Sarel."

"An otherworlder? None of the others have made trouble. It's not like many of them enter the Gates to stay."

"Begging your pardon, lady mayor, but most of the people who stay are fleeing slaves. The reasons a Rimetian freeman chooses to stay in Ascharon, let alone the Lowpool, must be investigated thoroughly. More suspiciously, he appears to hold similar opinions on werefolk as the others, though he maintains a neutral façade well."

"So diligent, Edlar," she teased. "Keep an eye on him then. The seakrait skeleton?"

Edlar ignored her teasing, long familiar with her idiosyncrasies, and answered. "Innocent on his part. However, Besan, son of Faran has disappeared. We cannot find him, and he has not returned to Stahlchausses."

"I see. Faran's son." An expression of melancholic reminiscence appeared on her face before she shook it off. "Keep looking. Anything more?"

The secretary nodded, looking apologetic. He handed over a set of papers. "The three children who Lergen and Aire accepted into the orphanage have been identified."

Sorza's expression flattened at the information in the papers. "Recommendations?"

"Lady mayor, you are well known to his lordship the count…"

The elderly mayor chuckled, somewhat grim. "Can't just ignore this, hm?"

"Sorry."

"We can't return them either. Keep an eye on them as well. Unless the count contacts us specifically, we have not seen them. I assume their trail to the Lowpool has been taken care of?"

"If anyone looks, they'll be led down the great river."

"Good. To more pleasant topics, how is the celebration coming along?"

"We should be ready tonight. The rewards and announcements have already been prepared. All those injured previously are well enough to attend."

"Excellent. The town needs a little cheering up, I think. Let's give them the chance to stomp the stink of smuggler from the central square."

"There is dancing planned."

Sorza nodded and stood from her desk. "That's enough for work today. Tell everyone to go home. Don't they need to prepare? Come along, little one. Let's go see what the cooks have planned for tonight's feast."

"Please don't call me that, gran."

*

*

Defi sunk his fingers into the dirt, scooping up a handful. It crumbled in his grip, dry and dusty. For a homestead on the banks of a river, it was unremarkable.

Leraine had not exaggerated. The soil was weak. It would not hold another harvest for at least a year, likely more.

If this was the result of trying to cultivate mystic plants on ordinary land, he understood why others did not do it, why the people in town thought Kern a fool. A farmer definitely would not allow his land to deteriorate to such an extent. How would the average farmer support himself and his family if he could not properly care for the land? Even the parts of the property that had not been sown with Kern's experimental plants had withered abominably.

He sat in the shade of a flowerless tree. Three hecte of mostly useless land, four slimes, a cottage, a warehouse, and river access – all he had in the world.

Now what?

He squeezed Turq and Mal in his arms, gaining a measure of comfort. Jar and Lar were exploring the stunted trees.

He should buy a scow of his own first. It was the most useful transport on the river. There was nothing he could do with the land except fertilize it and let it grow fallow.

Could he use the Current?

There was little difference in the way he used the current in Rimet and here, and it had not balked in any manner. Zevran of the March, philosopher, historian, scholar, said that under all gods was one god, under all sorceries was one power, under all living beings was one soul.

The gods of this world did not appear to disdain the Current, the Creator's gift. Well, there was only one way to make sure.

He sat up straight, put Turq and Mal on his folded legs, and closed his eyes.

The philosopher-priests of Ontrea say the Current was named so because it ebbed and rose in seemingly random cycles as it flowed through the worlds of existence and nonexistence, like a river bubbling toward an unrealized distant sea. Where it ebbed, life diminished. Where it rose, life flourished.

Defi sank himself slowly into the Current, and started the familiar process of gently coaxing power into the land. He concentrated on the tree at his back.

The power of the land of Ascharon was different and normally would have resisted at least a little but here, it was so starved that it drew Defi's energy to itself in large swallows, in huge gulps, and still wasn't satisfied.

Defi withdrew, a little perturbed at the hunger of the land under him. That depleted his energy far faster than the damaged land of the old spice farm.

"Defi."

His eyes shot open to see Sarel looking at him quizzically.

"I did tell you I was coming by. The others are already at the house."

"Others?" he croaked. He reached for his waterskin, wet his dry mouth. How long had he been within the Current? It felt like only a few moments.

"Merel was insistent that she apologize for the misunderstanding," Sarel looked exhausted at the mention of the other woman. "When she learned you were here, she organized a house-warming. Everyone is here."

"That's…"

Sarel nodded, the hermit understanding his wordless hesitation at the thought of company. She looked apologetic.

He waved it away with a shake of his head.

"Also," Sarel murmured, looking up and behind him. "I don't suppose there is an explanation for this?"

Defi glanced behind him and twitched, shock painting his features for a second.

The formerly flowerless tree he was sitting under was festooned in bouquets of pure white blooms, as if life had suddenly burst out its withered branches and polished its drooping leaves.

Chapter end