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Chapter 11: The Sap of Sweetness

Another day was dawning over the stone walls. Six months had already passed since the fateful incident in the commercial district. Even though I had been sheltered inside the carriage and few witnesses had caught a close glimpse of what happened, I still reflected on the impact of that scene. Imagining the reaction of the servants and guards upon seeing a heteromorphic child enter the vehicle half-dead and emerge completely healthy minutes later was something that would inevitably fuel the region's rumors for years.

I stared fixedly at the ceiling of dark beams and yellowish plaster in my room. The dawn broke cold. Soon, my caregiver Thys would cross the door for the morning chores. Now, the monk Katriny maintained a practically twenty-four-hour vigil over my steps. I had given up trying to escape that furry shadow; I was left only to accept the situation and, slowly, allow her to participate in my routine.

To my luck, the forced coexistence brought practical benefits. Katriny had been assisting me in recovering my speech and learning the local writing. The writing system of that region was complex, based on cuneiform characters engraved with styluses on rigid surfaces. It bore no resemblance to the classic alphabets or the hieroglyphs I studied in Teia. The bureaucratic and social structures of that world depended on this rustic record, and I frequently caught myself pondering how a future introduction of the mathematical concept of the number zero would revolutionize commerce and accounting in the castle.

Days ago, Katriny surprised me leaning over a piece of thick papyrus. She pointed to the geometric symbols I was sketching on the margin of the sheet, visibly intrigued.

— What kind of letters are those, young master? — she asked, her furry ears pricking up with curiosity.

— They are... numbers — I replied, trying to keep my voice steady.

The herbalist and the provincial scribes treated clean books and parchments as true fortunes. The feudal bureaucracy operated with a very high cost of material, which made the possession of manuscripts an exclusive privilege of the high nobility or the clergy.

After restoring my physical strength, I established a rigorous daily routine: reading the treatises, hidden elementary training with the trio of daggers I received from the monk Ethan, and exercises with Instructor Garrick. Progress with the runic blades was proving relevant. I could already control the emanation of heat and cold that sprouted from that steel. I could not activate them through the mystical prayers that Katriny used, but every time I channeled my psychic strength to conjure a fine frost on the ice dagger, the panda-monk widened her eyes, unable to comprehend the mechanics of energy transmission behind the phenomenon. This stroked my scientist's pride.

My legs were already obeying commands, and I could walk normally without the aid of a cane. The effort had strengthened my body and my mind, but that biological cure demanded a terrible tax: Cindy's bitter and viscous potions.

Every three days, the herbalist would appear at the castle bringing a ceramic flask filled with a thick, dark syrup. The positive side was clear; my body's humors were balanced, and my voice was gradually returning to its natural tone. But the taste that mixture left in my mouth was worse than chewing a green, astringent banana. It made me want to tear out my tongue to wash it in running water.

With no time for regrets, I took a rustic parchment and sketched my plan for development and counter-attack against the neighboring Baron. To strengthen the fortress's economy and raise resources without raising the suspicions of Ghalia's spies, I needed to list manufacturing priorities. I jotted down in sequence: sugar, salt, fertilizer for the crops, soap for hygiene, teeth cleaning, and basic sanitation. That would be the beginning of my silent revolution.

The Cauldron and the Hidden Recipe

I tried to get dressed by myself before Thys entered, to save my pride. Although that servant had cared for me since the cradle, my adult mind still contorted with embarrassment at being undressed and dressed by a woman, even knowing that the biology of this six-year-old body — about to turn seven — cancels out any physical complications.

But Thys possessed instincts comparable to those of a predatory feline. The instant I placed my feet on the stone floor to pick up the tunics, the door clicked open. My caregiver walked in with a radiant smile.

— Good morning, young master! Breakfast will be served in the hall in an hour. Let us get you ready.

Caught in the act again. I sighed mentally, accepting the help while wondering what kind of sensory perception Thys possessed to guess the exact moment of my awakening.

After being properly attired, I sat at the desk in the corner of the room and began to draw the technical diagrams. I drew a large copper cauldron and tried to rescue from memory the refining processes I studied in Teia to extract sweetness from tuberous roots, such as beets and sweet potatoes, after all, in my classes, I taught scientific evolutions that impacted world history. The ingredients needed for clarification were rustic but efficient for the level of that world: a massive cauldron, ten to twenty pounds of clean roots, germinated grains of cereal or barley to break down the starch, and egg whites or fresh animal blood to coagulate impurities during boiling.

As I immersed myself in the calculations, Katriny's silhouette appeared behind my shoulder.

— What are you drawing today, young master Kaelen? Could you explain these lines to me?

I jumped in my chair. How can she walk without emitting the slightest vibration in matter? I asked myself, containing my surprise.

Katriny let out a muffled giggle upon seeing my startle.

— Although I am young, with only nineteen winters, I was initiated into the Order of Scribes at twelve — she explained proudly. — Our congregation is closed and highly selective. We have a deep interest in every form of record and knowledge. Furthermore, my race possesses a natural aptitude for physical combat and silent steps.

I looked at the drawings and decided to integrate her into the experiment.

— I am trying to reconstruct the process of manufacturing pure sugar through roots — I replied, keeping the entire sentence firm, though a few syllables still sounded clipped. — But I will need mechanical assistance. This on the parchment is not a vase; it is a reflux cauldron. Did you get the material I asked for yesterday?

— Yes, master. Everything is prepared in the lower storehouses.

I smiled internally. Excellent. After the diplomatic visit that occurred six months ago, the emissaries of House Aurelius had been sending wagons full of those sweet roots from the northern valleys. Since the castle cooks did not know how to use them in feudal cuisine, the tubers ended up rotting in the cellars. But I had ordered the secret confiscation of the cargo; I had nearly twenty pounds of high-quality raw material stocked up. A true botanical treasure.

— We will also need fine linen fabrics for filtering — I instructed the monk. — Shall we go? I want my day of leave to be long and fruitful.

After breakfast with the family, I approached my mother and requested permission to visit the commercial district. Sylvia looked at me with a hint of suspicion and raised an eyebrow.

— Have you developed such a great fondness for the apothecary's bitter potions, my son?

My father, Lorde Arl, diverted his eyes from the patrol reports and cast a stern, silent gaze at me from across the table. I made an involuntary face of pure disgust.

— Taste... horrible. Viscous... yuck — I grumbled, making Sylvia let out a melodious laugh at my childish honesty.

— All right, my dear, you have my permission — she smiled, smoothing my clothes. — But pay attention to court obligations. Do not forget meals and be back in the main hall strictly by dinner time, no objections.

With my letter of release guaranteed by the sovereign, I ran toward the outer courtyard. I ordered Katriny and the guard soldier who would act as my shield for the day to carry the crate of Aurelius roots and fabrics to the carriage. I was about to test the first industrial refinement of that province. I was curious to evaluate whether the final product would carry excessive notes of earth or if it would result in a clean, crystal-clear syrup.

The Brown Sugar Jackpot

As we crossed the threshold of the antique shop, I announced my arrival in a clear tone, feeling my vocal cords operating with precision:

— Mistress Cindy! Are you on the premises?

The velvet curtain moved slowly, and the herbalist appeared in her long, somber dress and wide-brimmed pointed hat. Her wrinkles deepened into an intrigued smile.

— Well, look what the border wind brought in. Have you come in search of new treatises on astronomy or manuscripts of war, young master?

— Not this time — I replied, shaking my head. — I bring an experiment. I need help and the use of your large bronze cauldron. The process will take time.

Cindy narrowed her eyes, crossing her arms over the counter.

— The day is quiet in the commercial district and there are no wounded soldiers to tend to. You are lucky, little man. Are you going to try to make a mystical potion?

— No. A surprise... something edible and of great sweetness.

The apothecary's curiosity was piqued. She looked at the crate the guard was depositing on the floor and gestured for us to enter the back laboratory. I spread my parchment over the wooden table and pointed to the boiling and filtering equations.

Cindy leaned over the geometric lines, confused.

— What kind of alphabet and numbering are those, young master?

Before I could invent an excuse of a foreign accent, Katriny stepped forward and began to decipher the drawings for the herbalist, explaining the order of the ingredients and the settling times. I looked at the panda-monk with a shock of surprise. She had been observing my scribbles in secret over the past few weeks... She managed to decipher the logic of my recipe! This heteromorphic is a hidden genius of cryptography, and I had no idea! I thought, gaining a renewed respect for my watcher.

We began the refining process. It took nearly eight continuous hours of manual labor and scientific patience. We went through the stages of crushing the roots, prolonged cooking to extract the juice, adding the cereal grains to break down the dense starches, and the delicate clarification using egg whites to collect the foam of impurities on the bronze surface. Finally, we filtered the boiling liquid through the layers of fine linen and poured the concentrated syrup into small clay molds to cool and crystallize into solid blocks.

There were failures in the first attempts due to the rustic control of the wood fire, but my technical memory from Teia guaranteed the success of the final batch. From the twenty pounds of raw tubers, we obtained just under two pounds of solid, compact, golden-colored cubes.

It was legitimate primitive brown sugar. A true economic jackpot.

I removed a small cube from the clay mold and held it out to the two ladies in the room.

— The experiment is concluded. Try it and tell me if the work was worth it.

Cindy placed the golden crystal in her mouth. In the next second, her eyes widened dramatically and she froze, processing the purity of that sweet flavor that carried no trace of the tartness of wild berries or the earth of the swamps.

— By the eyes of the gods... — whispered the herbalist, her voice trembling with awe. — Young master... do you have any idea of the magnitude of what you just created in this cauldron? This completely alters the commerce of the province. There is an absurd amount of gold and political influence stored in this recipe if it is manufactured correctly by your father's hands!

Katriny took her piece and let it melt on her tongue with an expression of pure mystical delight.

— It is simply brilliant, young master Kaelen! The flavor is clean, smooth... it would be a divine delicacy if mixed with the herb infusions and teas of the nobility. But... what do you intend to do with the remaining matter left at the bottom of the cauldron and discarded during filtration?

I pointed my finger at the dark, dense, and sweet paste that had remained in the copper container — the raw molasses and concentrated vegetable residues.

— This leftover? — I looked at them with a shrewd smile of one who understood the cycles of matter. — If properly processed and fermented, it will turn into a strong drink for the soldiers on the walls. And the remaining bagasse will serve as an excellent fattening supplement for the stable animals and fertilizer to strengthen the fortress's wheat fields. Nothing is wasted.

Cindy and Katriny froze again. Their countenances abandoned shock and adopted an expression of complete incomprehension and mystical awe that I could barely measure. They looked at that tiny figure of a child who would barely complete seven winters in the coming months, but who spoke of economic cycles, resources, and manufacturing with the mind of a veteran imperial strategist.

The first step of my technological empire had been solidified at the bottom of that bronze cauldron. And the taste of that victory was deliciously sweet, so I won my day and returned home.