The Slime Farmer 73 Notizies, Circularies, Journals

It was Founder's Day, the day of rest in Ascharon, and Defi was frowning at a book.

His reading in Abrechal could now be said to approach pa.s.sable, and he only needed to riffle through a translating dictionary twice or thrice for every page.

He should be grateful that most of the books on slimes were written by explorers as chronicles and memoirs and were not full-fledged scholarly works with technical terminology. The way that the chronicles were written used more concise language and simpler words.

But it was still the case that most information he could find for slimes were only amateur observations and not studies into slime nature. Even a hundred years ago, when slimes were considered in the rankings for mystic beasts, it appeared people thought they were not worthy of study.

The only in-depth scholarly work regarding slimes was when a merchant commissioned a researcher to determine the commercial availability of the animal. It was t.i.tled: 'A Treatise on the Uses of the Swamp Slime'. The researcher only determined the creation of slime jelly and its powdered form, called 'claric powder' for the clear gelatinous substance it made when mixed with hot water.

As for slime extract, the researcher noted that the slime flesh must be drained because of the 'foul effluents' discharged by the slimes.

The researcher, a Mivan Doret, did mention that some slime extracts were acidic and suggested a use in cleaning stone and etching metal. He went on and on about reasons the acid did not affect the slime itself. Before ending in a conclusion that said it was too much trouble to hunt and test every slime for acid no matter how useful. Of the several hundred slimes that he used in his experiment, only two were acidic.

Defi frowned deeper. There was no mention of where the slimes were acquired. Surely the researcher knew that their habitat would influence the extract that the slimes exuded?

He closed the st.i.tched-together pages of the treatise and sat back in his chair, tapping the b.u.t.t of his pen against a sc.r.a.p of paper.

Mivan Doret stated that slimes could only be killed with fire and cannot be drowned. Defi's brow twitched. That was not true.

Slimes could also be killed with salt.

This unexpected knowledge was discovered by Defi only two days ago. His attempt to replace Ziv by summoning did not go too well.

He did the summoning in the kitchen yard, and one of the summoned slimes had the ability to bounce. Defi would now be studying what material a slime could eat to be able to do so by studying the particular slime's extract, if the slime in question had not bounced into the salt jar and been desiccated by the time Defi found it.

He could understand why the researcher had not tried killing with salt.

The coa.r.s.e grey salt, unrefined, currently cost a half-crescent per kilogar. These days, that was a week's wage for a skilled mason or carpenter. A hundred years ago, when the tax on white salt was even higher than now, no simple researcher would have even thought of wasting salt on an experiment.

The bouncing slime had not left behind a blackish jelly, as Ziv had, but a deflated material that had much the texture and flexibility of leather. Defi kept the material, wanting to know if it had any use, but had no idea how to go about determining it.

At the very least, from the existence of claric powder, he knew that slime flesh was edible.

He exhaled audibly. He still had no replacement for Ziv. Two weeks ago, he'd been worrying because there was not enough savras to feed the two slimes. Now, with the savras-sellers arriving in two days, he was worrying because he had no one-year preservation casks to store the easily-degrading gra.s.s and no slime to feed it to.

After he'd all but pestered Jacar to restart their business soon, Defi could not cancel the order.

Reliability was a trait every person needed to cultivate, in order to gain the trust of others.

If he wanted to acquire more savras at favorable prices in the future, he should sow the seeds of partners.h.i.+p now.

He breathed deeply the scent of parchment and paper, and soaked in the scholarly air of the library. The reason he'd come to read here, was to relax in a setting that brought him echoes of good memories. Who expected a simple treatise to be so provoking?

He eyed Turq, corralled in the arms of two chairs placed together. A faint hope, as the slime could climb the chair arms easily. Defi could instantly see if the slime was heading for the vulnerable paper and parchment however.

He stood. Maybe a book of legends would be more relaxing.

Orain was flipping through a collection of folios, quickly but carefully, when Defi approached the counter.

"Do you have a suggestion for light reading?"

Orain glanced up, his long fingers stilling on the edge of a page of parchment. He blinked slowly, unfolded his tall stick-like frame from his chair and disappeared into the stacks.

Defi was not for the first time put in mind of a spider, stealthy and with too-long limbs. Until the man spoke, and his growling voice put into prominence the violently bristling beard, to make Defi think of a bear.

The librarian returned with a haphazard stack of what looked like pamphlets in his arms, pages sticking out here and there. It was not quite what Defi had in mind.

The messy stack was thumped on the counter, a small cloud of dust rising from the action.

"What are they? Student essays?"

"Among others," rumbled Orain, "Publicized notizies, circularies, journals."

He wanted to know what in the world those words meant, but the casual way Orain said them told him they were common things in the world. Defi forced a smile.

He could only take the mess and carry it to his table. The stack was two hands high. He regarded it warily. Orain had not steered him wrong yet, in terms of reading recommendations.

The top of the stack was a printed piece of paper. He took it and slapped it lightly against a chair to dislodge the dust. On second glance, it appeared to be several sheets of wide paper folded together.

Defi unfolded it to read the strong print that domineeringly declared that the sheaf of paper was the 'Imperial Circularion', and the sketch of a distant palace with towers above it.

He unfolded it again and again, to the full extent of the page, to see that the thing was arranged as a folio, and each page held print in various sizes. He refolded it to what he guessed was the proper way of reading, with folio pages nestled against each other.

Below the t.i.tle and the woodcut of a palace were four columns of printed black text, interspersed here and there with graphs or sketches and woodcuts of varied imagery.

'Duke zi Olva Dies in Joy' stated one header. 'Military Salaries Raised' professed another. 'Devur Trial Finally Concluded!' cried yet another.

There was a date on the page, 7 Frostmelt D672, and a note that the Circularion cost 25 rond apiece and was published in Carmedel, and a small line that proudly declared it was the voice that reached the whole of the empire.

The seventh day of the first month of the 672nd dynastic year. It was almost the end of the Rainfall month of the dynastic year 678; the date was nearly six years and seven months ago.

Notizies, circularies, journals.

Well, now he knew what one of those was.

The print on the page was written half-hearsay, half-fact, half-speculation. Defi's brows lifted as he read, his mind instantly coming up with a hundred and six ways such a 'voice' might be induced to sing songs to benefit different people and different undertakings.

Fascinating.

He refolded the Circularion and eyed the dusty stack with more interest.

Ontrea had something similar, but only as a regular way of disseminating kingdom proclamations and whatever else the king and court wanted to say to the n.o.bles, called the scriberoi. The scriberoi certainly wasn't sold. What if enemies got ahold of the information?

He was certain nothing too important to the security of the nation was placed in the Imperial Circularion either.

The second item in the stack was more substantial. Different from the Circularion, it was a bound codex, not a folded folio. Differently from the average book, the cover was cardstock, not wood or leather, and there were barely sixty pages between the covers.

It was more like the treatise he was reading earlier. The treatise cover was cardstock as well, but the treatise had only twenty or so pages.

He shook the thin volume gingerly of dust, after noting it was called 'The Weekly Philosopher's Journal' and that it was a monthly publication. When was the last time Orain put these out to be read?

To understand the mind of the average Ascharonian, these circularies and journals were important. Defi wished not to be noticed. These public scriberoi of Ascharon, they were hidden gems!

He leafed through the journal, interest increasing at the content. It was dated Snowfall D677, ten months ago.

He put it down reluctantly, deciding to dust off the rest before starting on the most interesting-looking piece. He blew dust and cobwebs from the next item on the stack.

When he was done, there were nine journals, two treatises, fourteen circularies from various cities, and three notizies published by the Havare province.

He ordered them in stacks from interesting to trivial.

He sat down in satisfaction, reached for the first of the journals.

"Turq," he said with a smile. "I think this is going to be a good day."