After the boyermen left, Culich sat alone at the table until Maera changed seats to sit beside him.
“Any questions for your notes, Maera?” She would write a detailed account of the meeting, including actions each of the boyerman had committed to.
“No, Father. I have it all. I’ll write it up for your review by this evening.”
“How do you think they’re all dealing with worries about the Narthani?”
Most of the boyermen would have been surprised, if not angry, to have their performance reviewed by a woman, even if she was the hetman’s daughter.
“All will do their duties.” She paused and then, with a noticeable lightness to her voice, said, “Even Arwin.”
Belman Kulvin was boyerman of the Arwin district of Southeast Keelan and chafed at having his people helping other districts and out from under his view. Culich considered Kulvin the least among the Keelan boyermen.
“If a crisis develops, as I fear, I may have to find a new Arwin boyerman,” Culich said. “So far, he hasn’t given me enough excuse. Maybe he’ll surprise me someday.”
Culich laughed in spite of himself. It wasn’t appropriate for him to be critical of one of his boyerman with another person, but Maera was not “another person.”
He changed the subject. “You’ve seen all the reports coming out of Moreland. What do you think?”
She was blunt as always. “They’ll try to take Moreland. Besides being in a central location, the Narthani aren’t going to find a stupider hetman bordering the land they already control. When is uncertain, but most of their attention is pointed that way. It’s just a matter of time. If I had to guess, I’d say within a year, two at most.”
He grunted in disappointment, having hoped she would argue with his same assessment. He also knew she worried about Anarynd Moreland.
“Which makes all the more important the outcome of the next conclave I called at Orosz City,” Culich said. “There has to be a way to make more of the other clans understand what’s happening.”
“Do you really expect such recognition at this meeting, Father?”
“This is more a meeting out of duty and hope, rather than one with optimism. I’m obliged to try, though.” Culich’s face drew down into discouragement. “Since it’s not an All-Clan Conclave, it’s up to each clan whether it comes at all, and even if it does, who will represent it. The best I hope for is for two-thirds of the clans to be there and as many as half of the hetmen. My expectation is somewhat lower.”
“A great Caedellium philosopher once said that all a man can do is his best,” said Maera.
Culich smiled. It was something he himself was fond of saying. “Obviously, a great thinker.”
“Obviously,” replied Maera innocently.
Preddi City, Narthani Headquarters
General Akuyun scanned the new report he had just received and laid it on his desk. “Well, Morfred, everything seems to have gone well on the Buldorians’ first mainland raid.”
Admiral Morfred Kalcan sat relaxed by the window overlooking the harbor. “Yes, I give those Buldorian scum credit. When it comes to raiding unsuspecting islanders, they’re efficient enough for our purposes. I admit, they surprised me with their discipline. They’re already agitating to move on the next target.”
“Where do you and Hizer plan the next raid?”
“Two raids on the same province within a few days of each other, either Swavebroke or Pewell Provinces. Then two more on the second province. We’ll see how the clans react to a double hit so near each other in time. After that, if things continue to go well, we’ll jump around the island to different provinces.
“As we’ve discussed, we’re saving the three southern provinces for later. If any clans are going to give the Buldorians major problems, it’ll be those, particularly Keelan Province.”
Chapter 26: Fertilizer
Production
Yozef’s discovery of the guano deposits occupied his mind after returning to Abersford from Clengoth. The next morning, he went straight to the ether shop. He found Filtin Fuller working on a new distillation apparatus. The amiable man smiled and hummed to himself.
Yozef shook his head. Was Filtin ever in a bad mood? Being too cheerful could be just as irritating as being always dour.
“Filtin, are you always happy?”
“Happy?” queried Filtin. “What’s not to be happy about?”
“Never mind. Can you stop for a moment? There’s something I’d like to talk with you about.”
Filtin put down a distillation column he was inspecting, “Sure. What about?”
“Let’s go outside,” said Yozef. “It’s quieter there.”
They left the shop, and Yozef led him to the shade of a tree.
“Filtin, I have two new projects and wanted to ask if you could be in charge of one of them.” Yozef outlined ideas for both his retreat house and guano mining. Filtin listened, then shook his head when Yozef finished.
“I don’t think it’s a good idea for me to get involved, Yozef.”
“Why is that?” asked a surprised Yozef. Where was Filtin’s usual enthusiasm for anything new?
“For one thing, I’m already so busy with the distillation and other equipment projects that I would have to stop working here before taking on other major tasks. Also, anyone who took my place in ongoing projects wouldn’t be familiar with the problems, and progress would slow. You’re also looking for someone more senior. The person in charge needs to have not only authority but also the respect of workers in different crafts. I’m too young for the role.”
Shit. He’s right. Yozef hadn’t thought this through. If not Filtin, then who?
“Do you have any recommendation of who would be appropriate?”
Filtin’s perpetual smile got even wider. “My father, Dyfeld Fuller. He’s one of the most respected craftsman in the district and works with wood and combining wood with glass and metal. He’s worked with glassblowers and metal workers for years, and they all know and respect him. He’s also worked with most of the carpenters in designing and building houses and other structures. His furniture is well known throughout Caedellium. You must have seen some of his pieces in the abbey or in businesses and houses in Abersford.”
“If you don’t mind my asking, Filtin, why don’t you work with your father? That’s normally how things seem to work here on Caedellium.”
“Oh, I’ve worked with Father for as long as I can remember, but I wanted to get some different experience, and glass blowing was the only other trade in Abersford I hadn’t worked at. I expect I’ll go back with Father and someday take over his shop when he can no longer work. Right now, I’m having too much fun working with you.”
“Sounds like he might be the person, Filtin. Can you arrange a meeting with him?”
“I’ll stop by his house tonight and let you know tomorrow.”
When Yozef arrived at the distillation shop the next morning, Filtin waited with another man, who gave an initial impression of being an old and worn lifelong laborer—stocky, heavy shoulders, thick arms, and large hands, gnarled and scarred with decades of heavy work, one finger missing, a lined face, graying hair and beard, a limp, and a noticeable resemblance to Filtin.
“Yozef, this is my father, Dyfeld Fuller.”
They exchanged greetings. Dyfeld’s gravelly voice matched his appearance. However, the initial impressions vanished when Dyfeld spoke. His son had already primed him with the outlines of Yozef’s two projects. He jumped right into asking questions, as if assuming whether he would work for Yozef was his decision alone. It wasn’t arrogance as much as a master craftsman confident in his skills and with enough other work not to need these projects. Within five minutes, the two men were going over Yozef’s maps and rough sketches, with Dyfeld pointing out issues that hadn’t occurred to Yozef and suggesting solutions.
Dyfeld immediately grasped the potential of guano fertilizer, compared to the skepticism of his son and Cadwulf. He also saw it a
s the simplest task.
“As far as I understand it, Ser Kolsko, at first you will only need a few dozen sacks of the bird shit deposits crushed to a fine powder. Those you intend on using to test out whether the powder can increase crop yields. I wonder, though, if you need that many sacks. From what you describe, two or three sacks would be enough to test.”
Yozef thought it interesting that Dyfeld caught that. No wool on his brain, even if he looked like a common laborer. Yozef didn’t need to tell anyone he’d eventually experiment with extracting potassium nitrate for gunpowder—if he got around to it.
“True, Ser Fuller. However, as long as we’re doing this, I’d like to be sure I have a sufficient supply.”
Dyfeld shrugged. “It’s your coin. If it works as you think it will, then we’d need to expand the work. In that case, I see two issues.” Dyfeld went back to the map of the inlet. “As for the extractions, there’s no reason to pulverize the shit deposits on site. Since it has to be hauled here anyway, all it will take is to break it up the into small-enough pieces to load into sacks for pack-horses to carry and bring it back here, where we can do the crushing. Once it is known that the fertilizer works, and you want to increase extraction, then we can think about more efficient ways to do the crushing, either doing it on site or bringing it here in wagons.
“The second issue is that you’ll need to show use of the land to satisfy the registration of ownership. The registrar did explain the usage provision, didn’t he?”
“Yes. I have to show the land is being used for some purpose.”
“That shouldn’t be a problem. You say there’s no proper road or path to this site, so, if necessary, we’ll simply hack out a pack horse trail for now. We should also build a small encampment for workers to sleep and eat, and provide some minimal evidence of land improvement. If major extractions are to occur, we can build a regular road for wagons getting in and out. No point doing that, though, until we see whether it’s worthwhile. If your fertilizer idea doesn’t work, then you’d best just let the land revert to the clan.”
By now, Yozef had forgotten that this was supposed to be an interview to see whether he would consider hiring Dyfeld. Instead, Yozef had been told that Dyfeld would let himself be hired, and they continued with the planning.
“The little house you want is something else. It’s not just a small house you’ll need. I assume you’ll get there by horse, so you’ll need a barn as well, plus an outhouse appropriately distant from the house. The house itself looks like you want one different than most houses, what with so many windows and some of them quite large. There’s no way we can get either lumber or glass there by pack animal, so we’ll need a minimal road. I can have one of my assistants check out possible routes, but we may be able to use beach sections, combined with new roadbeds where necessary. While this will add to the costs, if you expand the fertilizer extraction, we’d only have to improve the existing road for heavier wagons and extend the road on to the mining site.”
Dyfeld stopped and, with the hand missing the third finger, pulled over the sketch of the house. “I’ll have suggestions on the house design after we’ve talked more about the features you want.”
Testing
Dyfeld Fuller’s speed and efficiency caught Yozef by surprise when, eight days later, a wagon holding twenty sacks of crushed murvor guano waited at the distillation shop. No arrangements for testing on farms had been made. He knew nothing about how much was needed per acre. He did remember Julie chastising him for giving one of her orchids too much plant food, something about excess nitrogen burning the leaves. Different terrain might also vary the amount of fertilizer needed.
There was also the problem of the seasons. He worried about the cooler weather after the Harvest Festival and whether he’d have to wait months for the next growing season to begin, but Dyfeld said no.
“The main crops won’t go in for another three or four months, although there are always cool weather crops some farms plant. My brother used to farm until his death, and he’d plant crops that grew until the weather got too cold and then sit dormant until temperatures were warmer to finish growing and maturing. And it depends on the farm. If the location is right, it’s possible to grow something year round. I’m not sure what’s growing now, but check with the local farmers.”
Yozef set Cadwulf to the task of contacting farmers to see whether any were interested. Not unexpectedly, few were, with variations on the same themes.
“Murvor shit on my fields? Nonsense!”
“My family has always farmed the same way for generations. There’s no reason to change.”
“Are you a farmer? I didn’t think so. Who are you to advise us how to grow crops?”
“Why would I want to increase yields? We are having trouble selling or using the crops we already get before they spoil.”
It was the latter excuse that led to the solution. If farmers were having difficulty selling their crops, they could be paid to carry out Yozef’s experiments. However, the attitudes of many farmers worried him. Could he trust them to do what was necessary to validate the tests? He needed a farm that followed directions and kept accurate records, and he’d need to check progress and compliance, either doing the checking himself or training someone to do it.
“What about that farm woman you told me about at the festival?” said Yozef. “A widow owning and running a medium-sized and productive farm.”
“Who? I don’t … oh, wait. You mean Bronwyn Linton? The one who eyed you?”
“I don’t know that she eyed me.”
“She did. And if I recall, there was eyeing in return.” Cadwulf’s face took on a leer. “Are you sure it’s only to test your fertilizer that makes you suggest her? Maybe some other fertilization occurs to you?”
Yozef flushed. “Nonsense. I’m just trying to find farmers who will work with me.”
His young associate and friend relented with the teasing. “You may be right about her being easier to work with. Her reputation is that she’s practical, works hard herself, demands the same of her workers, and is fair and honest.”
The next day they rode the ten miles to the Linton farm, located on a river valley bottom. The farm had dark soil, and lush foliage separated fields of crops. Yozef’s nose pulled in rich odors of damp soil and growth. Newly planted fields had sprouts of a grassy crop and other fields with broader leafed plants. Cadwulf recognized winter wheat and turnips. The fields appeared well tended, the fences and several out-buildings in good repair, and the farm house had been painted in the not-too-distant past. A middle-aged man came out of a barn as they rode up.
“Good day, Ser,” said Cadwulf. “I’m Cadwulf Beynom and this is Yozef Kolsko. We’re here to talk with Bronwyn Linton.”
“She’s in the north field,” the man answered, walking away with evidently no intention of either going for Linton or telling them the location of the north field.
Cadwulf wasn’t perturbed and called to the man’s back.
“If you could direct us to where she is, we would be appreciative.”
The answer was a jerk of his head, presumably meaning the field was in that direction.
Cadwulf thanked him more than Yozef thought deserving. He had to keep reminding himself that people weren’t so much rude as brusque—a reasonably neutral brusqueness and not the abrasiveness of some New Yorkers or the deliberate, feigned superiority of the French.
They tied their horses to a rail in front of the house and walked in the indicated direction. Sure enough, when they got around the house, they could see a figure in a field, plucking wheat shoots from the ground, chewing on them, and then spitting them out and moving on.
“She’s checking for moisture in the leaves,” said Cadwulf. Yozef didn’t know why that was important and didn’t ask.
When the woman saw them, she gave a slight wave and moved to where they waited just off the field. As she got closer, Yozef recognized the woman from the fair, dressed more workmanlike today. His pr
evious impression was stocky, bordering on plump, but perhaps it had been the clothes. Sturdy she was, but without much excess weight, probably attributable to regular farm work. Her face and arms were browned from the sun. She’d wrinkle before forty, given this much tanning. Her bare arms looked strong, as did what he could see of her legs, as her skirt swirled around her calves. But of her femininity, there was no doubt. The curve of hips below her waist and swells under her top-shirt made that clear. Her brown hair was braided into a bun, and a straw farmer’s hat provided shade to her face.
“Ser Beynom, welcome to my farm.” Though she addressed Cadwulf, her eyes never left Yozef. “And I take it this is the mysterious Yozef Kolsko whom everyone talks about.” She smiled.
“Guilty as charged, Sen Linton,” said Yozef, smiling back.
Her eyebrows rose at his offhand remark, then she looked at Cadwulf. “And to what do I owe your visit?”
In the next half hour, Yozef described his interest in running test plots with the powdered guano fertilizer and what he hoped to find out about efficacy and application amounts. Sen Linton quickly agreed with the potential but confirmed no immediate advantage to increased yields.
“I already use about half of my crops for animal feed. The other half I sell for island consumption at lower prices than before.”
“I noticed there were more cattle and horses than I expected as we rode in today,” Yozef remarked. “I thought you only farmed crops.”
“Normally, yes,” said Linton. “But since the crops don’t keep that long, I’m raising more animals than usual, since they keep longer. Many farmers are doing the same.”
A longer shelf-life. Yozef approved. Very smart and thinking long term.
“There’s no problem with helping you with your tests of this new fertilizer, Ser Kolsko. We already spread manure on the fields, but there’s never enough. Having another fertilizer source would be useful, if this idea of yours works. As for your paying me to do these tests, what if instead we agree that should the fertilizer work as well as you think, and if the conditions for selling improve in the future, that you’ll sell me all the fertilizer I need at half the going price?”
Cast Under an Alien Sun (Destiny's Crucible) Page 28