The Slime Farmer 78 A Vital Milk

Defi nodded, not commenting at the reluctant look in their eyes. He gave them a few coins. "If you might, hire some scows to take everyone. I can't fit all of us in one boat."

How they dealt with their parents and guardians was not up to him, he decided. But he had to say something.

 "The training for sword and halberd will take a year for the basics alone. This is not an amount of time that would be conducive to hiding your activities. I already have the permission of the orphanage. Some of you are already adults, but I suggest transparency."

There was a brief contemplative, slightly guilty, slightly annoyed silence.

"Garge homestead, yes?" asked one, after a while.

"Yes."

"We'll be there." Over half the people not a.s.sociated with the orphanage scattered. 

The orphanage kids, now numbering six, and one girl who was of similar age, accompanied Defi to the tavern, chatting merrily.

Defi glanced at the older three who did not scatter. The oldest of them was about his age, seemingly friends with the other male of the three. The girl dressed in st.u.r.dy farm clothing, a year or two younger than Defi, accompanied them. He could see that she was not acquainted with the other two.

"You three all want to join the military?"

"Yes, teacher. Both of us do." The oldest of the three answered, his voice deep and calm. "As for the miss, I don't know."

"Just Defi, not teacher. We're about the same age."

The girl shrugged. "Soldier sounds better than farm laborer. I'll become an officer, those people better wait." Her last words were slightly strained. She calmed herself and continued, "You can all call me Josel."

"Boone."

"Vesen." Boone's friend's voice was a soft tenor. He smiled at them brightly, slapped Boone's shoulder. "I'm just following this idiot. But weapons are not a bad thing to learn." He pointed his chin at the girl who was not an orphanage kid, laughing with Muriel. "My younger sister Sednee. I want her to be able to protect herself."

Defi was used to gatherings of a hundred people. Making small talk with new acquaintances was not difficult while he thought over the information they shared. Everyone appeared to have their own reasons for seeking instruction with an untried teacher as young as he was.

Seventeen people was a large cla.s.s by weapon-training standards. 

By the Creator, why did he agree to this?

He consoled himself with the thought that some parents would not agree to his teaching when they got word of his youth. Not to mention, some of the students would drop out after seeing the flexibility and speed conditioning routine he was going to put them all through. 

He smiled inwardly.

These students of his were going to plant his zaziphos orchard for him. That was good enough payment for some weeks of conditioning and basics. 

After that, if he could cut the number of people in half, it would allow him more time to focus on those who have committed themselves to learning.

"What are you doing in the tavern anyway?" Josel asked, crossing her arms.

"Buying wine. For the workers." He clarified when her brows furrowed. "They did good work this last month."

"You're actually farming the Garge homestead?" Boone looked concerned.

Defi shook his head, already antic.i.p.ating their reaction. "I rebuilt the warehouse to raise slimes."

True enough, they looked disbelieving and even more doubtful of him than before.

Josel's brow quirked. "You're not some crazy rich n.o.ble, are you?"

From the group ahead, Renne who was now Elen snickered when she heard that. "If he was rich," she called back, "his house would have stuff in it."

"My house is fine," he responded quickly, then backtracked a bit as he recalled the comments on his décor of the central hall. "Maybe slightly less than fine, but I have things."

"Note that he didn't refute the 'crazy'," commented Markar who was now Arac. The younger group fell into giggles.

He laughed with them.

Being known as slightly eccentric was as good a cover as any for the cultural and social gaffes he was still p.r.o.ne to making. 

Maybe he could ask Marmocha if he could source a book or journal on Ascharonian etiquette. Erlaen had attempted to get him to read what she called 'improving' books when she was still in town. He had ignored her at the time but because of her grandiose speeches, he was certain there were at least a few tomes on the subject that were easy to acquire.

It would help at least a little. 

He wasn't hopeful that it would fix much however. He knew that Ontrean etiquette books were too generalized that truth was lost. They were only for younger readers, and did not delve into the intricacies of a large part of what people grew up learning at home. Most of Ontrean etiquette was pa.s.sed down by words and actions of elder family members. 

Unspoken rules, ancient laws, historical traditions. Much of them too delicate to be depicted in the indelible and unsubtle black and white that was a book.

Ascharonian etiquette manuals would undoubtedly be the same. It was an advantage of each strata of society to have secret knowledge and ways of doing things that set people apart from others and brought similar people together. To put such things in a book would throw every hierarchical society into chaos.

A world where people were not demarcated by their mores?

Impossible.

It would not survive.

The street devolved into the corner building that housed Adan and Rocso's tavern. It was a little late for most taverns to be open, but Rocso liked to wait until the dawn market was closed before closing his kitchen. Most of his customers at this hour of the morning were fishers from the boats eating before they went home for the day or went out again.

In any case, most taverns didn't serve a full menu like this particular one did.

At the front of the tavern, Adan nodded at their group from where he was sweeping the front. He noticed Defi. "Why the frown so early in the morning?"

"I realized I didn't know the name of your tavern."

Adan laughed quietly. "The sign was taken down years ago. Officially, it's Isistra's."

"Most people just call it the Corner Tavern," said Boone.

"Eating?" Adan swirled his stickbrush broom along the cobbles.

Defi was about to say no, when he remembered that it was early. "Have you all eaten?"

"Yes." Was the chorus.

Defi gestured at them, in answer to Adan. "I'm here for wine. Hm, Clossur Madalaine or House Zenet?"

Sarel had insulted both of those names with grand disdain, but he felt that if he suggested one of her picks, he might be stuck paying for a wine that only the imperial kitchens could afford. 

Adan snorted. "The Madalaine's six crescents a bottle. As for the other one, this isn't some n.o.ble salon. As my father commonly says, what ya take us for?"

Marmocha, Sarel, why not argue about ordinary wine? It would be more useful than the unp.r.o.nounceable wines you were fighting over…

 "Do you have a suggestion?"

Adan paused. "Ah, you know Sarel, I now recall. What else did she suggest?"

"Zamen Rakarlo Zobec, Familie Evifervel?"

His brows rose. "What for?"

"The builders at the homestead."

"Work-well wine?" Adan looked greatly amused. He leaned his broom on the wall of the tavern. "Come. I feel I should stop you before you gain a habit of wasting money on drink."

He stepped into the tavern.

Defi shrugged at the others. Adan was more talkative than usual. Was it the early morning?

He and the others followed.

"Young Defi!" Rocso, about to step into the kitchen, spied him and gave his usual smirking welcome. "Early delivery or come for food?"

"Good morn, elder. Milk, please." He made a gesture that encompa.s.sed all his companions. "Vital milk, if you have it."

"Of course," Rocso put an insulted expression on his face. "This is a place for family. My son, where are your manners, get them to sit down!" 

He disappeared into the kitchen.

Vital milk was just vital water mixed with fermented milk from cows or goats. 

A cup of cold milk before and after training was something some of the instructors in Ontrea swore by. Defi did not precisely know how effective it was, but The Home-maker's Journal mentioned that fermented milk, called yoghurt, cultured in vats and stirred to creamy liquid after cooling, was a more nouris.h.i.+ng drink than ordinary milk. It also kept longer and was cheaper by half compared to fresh milk. The journal recommended it for growing children.

Adan waved them to one of the larger tables. He ducked into the bar and started collecting bottles.

It was quiet in the tavern. Uncharacteristic from other times Defi was here.

The place was nearly empty, only three or four people slurping soups inside. The drunks had been collected and tossed snoring into a corner – the tavern owners would wake them and kick them out when they closed.

Rocso appeared at the table with an armful of cups and a large ceramic jug. He deftly poured and distributed the cups, sliding them across the table to rest before each person.

"Ah, you don't have to…" Vesen waved his arms, indicating the table.

"This is a training method too," refuted Defi. "It is a known method of bolstering muscles and bones while training."

"Really?" Elen asked. "You didn't give us milk before though."

"I was looking for a source." Actually he hadn't thought of it. With just four students in the same age bracket and a similar level of physique, he could afford a more relaxed training schedule. In addition, the children would never have been allowed to leave the orphanage without Aire feeding them.

This was his solution for the fact that when he asked if everyone had eaten, all of the four people who were not connected to the orphanage had lied.