Chapter 15: The Sea Salt and the Kitchen Roots
Chapter 15: The Sea Salt and the Kitchen Roots
When we returned to Baron Claus's lodging, the clock already marked around eighteen long hours. We had lost much more time in the port districts than I initially predicted, but the balance of the expedition had been a thunderous gain. Shortly after we settled in the room, soft knocks echoed on the door. It was Countess Valeria.
— Good evening, Kaelen... — she greeted, her voice melodious. She carried a small clay platter covered by a clean linen cloth. — As... as an apology for yesterday, because of the abuses and savage behavior of my brothers, I baked a cake for you myself. Would... would you forgive them and not be upset with our house?
Looking at that little feline girl with fur white as snow, speaking in such a sweet and worried tone of voice, how could I maintain any drop of fury? My geek professor heart softened instantly. I smiled gently and replied, polishing the syllables:
— We just crossed the gates, Valeria. I didn't get mad at Lucius and Marcus; I got upset with myself because this body still can't take a real duel. Don't worry, I would never hold a grudge against them, and much less against you, all right?
Upon hearing that, the little girl lowered her furry ears, totally red with shame. She pushed the cake platter into my arms in a hurry, turned her back, and ran down the corridor of the mansion.
Katriny watched the whole scene leaning against the doorframe, crossing her arms with a mischievous smile of someone who had loved the childish melodrama.
— Young master Kaelen... don't you think you are too young to be a womanizer and go around conquering the hearts of heteromorphic countesses? — she mocked, her ears wagging.
— I didn't proffer any word out of malice, Katriny! — I protested, feeling my cheeks heat up. — Valeria was extremely conscious and cute by bringing the gift. It becomes difficult to act otherwise.
The panda-monk let out a muffled laugh of pure playful disdain.
— Well, let's focus on business — I changed the subject, adjusting my túnica. — We have the formal dinner with the court now and, right after, an exhausting laboratory work awaits us. By my calculations, we will be bent over the parchments until after twenty-six hours of the dawn.
Katriny froze, the smile vanishing from her face while she stared at me with a countenance of pure dramatic dread.
— Say what?! I won't be able to sleep, young master? You are terribly mean! I am a lady of the Order of Scribes, I need my sleep cycle! If I spend the dawn awake and start getting full of wrinkles on my face, who is going to accept to marry me in the future?
— Stop the drama, ursine — I laughed. — Let's go quickly prepare for the banquet. The faster we finish the protocols with the baron, the sooner we will start the drawings and the more time we will have to sleep, agreed?
— Young master... why do I feel the distinct impression that you are going to cross me again? — she narrowed her eyes, suspicious.
— When did I ever deceive you, Katriny? — I asked, feigning a child's innocence.
— Let's see: when you started to devour arcane treaties in the dead of night, when you manifested secret frosts with the ceremonial daggers, and when you started that mysterious list of economic priorities! Your file with me is accumulated.
I pressed my lips together, impressed. Women... they can change planets, races, or even turn half panda, but their memory to charge others remains sharp as a steel blade, I grumbled in my thoughts.
The Dawn of Scribbles and the Sweet and Sour Cake
The formal dinner with Baron Claus and the tiger-men leaders transpired without political news, and as soon as we were dismissed, we ran to the isolation of the room. We lit the tallow candles and the work began. I bent over the desk and activated my memories of Téia, forcing my mind to diagram the physical processes for the extraction of sodium chloride on a large scale.
I began to trace the sketches of large square decantation tanks, calculating the level-switching procedures, wooden floodgates, and passage channels so that the heat of the double sun, Solis and Ignis, would do the work of evaporating the salty water. I considered for a second the possibility of mining the salt directly from that white sand beach I spotted on the road, but backed away; the sand washing process would cause a severe ecological alteration in that natural cove. The best technical path was to conduct the seawater to the artificial clay salinas.
Katriny, despite her initial grumbling, showed herself to be a brilliant assistant. Her cuneiform handwriting was firm and she could translate my modern geometric sketches into terms that feudal carpenters would understand. It didn't take long and the structural project was concluded. The clock was already dragging its gears near twenty-six hours of the dawn.
Before retiring, we decided to cut the cake that Valeria had left. To my complete gastronomic surprise, the delicacy had a sweet and sour, slightly salty flavor. The dough was dense and supported by finely chopped pieces of a white and fibrous root that I didn't know. It was a totally unusual palate, but one that lit a spark of inspiration in my geek mind. If this white root has this amylaceous consistency, it would fatally taste delicious if fried in boiling fat! I deduced, excited. And if we use eggs and milk to give lightness to the dough, we will revolutionize the banquets of this castle.
Taking advantage of the excitement, I pulled two pieces of clean papiro and traced two urgent lists. I delivered one to Thys, who had already returned to the room, and another to Katriny. One was the list of food inputs; the other detailed carpentry materials.
— Can you arrange these elements for me early tomorrow? — I asked, looking at the two of them.
Thys inspected the cuneiform characters and gave a jump backward, visibly frightened by the culinary orders.
— Young master Kaelen... what do you intend to do with animal pork lard, fresh eggs, and mountain-eagle milk? Mixing these ingredients with this white root is simply going to ruin the food of the mansion! This is a gastronomic heresy!
— Don't worry, Thys. I guarantee I will make an extraordinarily tasty delicacy — I smiled, trying to calm her down. — But I am only a child and I don't have the height or mechanical strength to handle the heavy pans. I need your help. Could you request from the housekeeper the license for us to use the baron's kitchens during the morning period?
Katriny stepped forward, crossing her furry arms with a look of pure greedy interest.
— Oh, that's not fair, young master! If you are going to coordinate the manufacturing of a delicious delicacy, I demand to be part of the banquet! Why are you sending me with the carpentry list? I want to stay and eat!
I let out a loud laugh with the panda's interest.
— All right, Katriny. You can eat as much as you want, but only if you recruit the servants to collect the materials on the second list. We will need everything ready by afternoon, plus a formal authorization from my mother to visit that white sand beach we saw on the coast. Will you help me with this bureaucracy?
The two of them looked at each other, caught by the mysterious enthusiasm of the project, and exclaimed in chorus:
— Yes, young master!
I muffled a comical sigh. I am the child of six winters here, and it's the two adults who act with this childish excitement of a festival eve... I thought. We blew out the candles and finally went to sleep, knowing that the cycle of the next day would be long and exhausting.
The French Fry Revolution
The next morning, although my adult mind still processed a slight torpor from the reduced sleep, Thys and Katriny were already on their feet in the room. They displayed radiant and invigorated countenances, which made me seriously question if those two had lain on the mat for a single hour at all.
— Good morning... — I yawned, stretching my small arms.
— Good morning, young master! — they replied in unison, with a frightening synchrony.
— We let you rest for a few more fractions in bed — Thys stepped forward, gathering her cheeks with a smile. — I will go arrange breakfast and I leave the notice: the main kitchens have been officially released for your use starting at nine o'clock in the morning. All the inputs you listed have already been delivered by the servants and await on the stone countertops.
Katriny took a step forward, wagging her mischievous ears.
— And I fulfilled my diplomatic mission, master. I talked to the guards and with Lady Sylvia; she granted the alforria for us to visit the coast in the afternoon. In addition, your father, Lord Arl, found out about the fuss and sent word that he insists on inspecting your experiment personally.
I frowned, a bit startled by the developments.
— But... Katriny, we haven't even assembled the decantation floodgates! We were going to need the technical help of a master carpenter or an artisan to cut the woods before we marched to the beach...
— Don't worry — the panda-monk winked astutely. — Your father got so excited with the promise of a new manufacturing that he guaranteed he would provide the best artisan in the port city. Impreturbably at thirteen hours, the lorde will be stationed at the entrance of the lodging to march with us to the cove.
I was shocked by such mechanical and organizational efficiency of that court. I looked at the countenance of the two of them and shook my head. These two definitely fixed something up during the night and didn't sleep... Trying to compute the mind of these women gives me an overwhelming headache.
After swallowing breakfast, Thys, Katriny, and I marched toward the kitchens of the large house. As we crossed the iron doors, we were received by the baron's master cook: a man with strong arms, fair skin, and a well-trimmed thin beard. He stared at my childish stature with crossed arms, letting out a snort of pure rustic disdain.
— So this is the young master Vance who came to mess up my kitchen and my pans? — the cook grumbled, bad-tempered.
— Don't worry, master — I replied with politeness, maintaining my firm posture as a noble. — My caregiver and my assistant will execute the manual tasks. I will act only guiding the order of ingredients.
The man adjusted his leather apron with displeasure, keeping his eyes narrowed.
— Very well. But I will stay stationed right here beside inspecting every movement. These copper pans and caldrons are worth their weight in silver and I will not allow you to destroy my work belongings.
I ignored the fellow's bad mood and turned to the countertops.
— Thys, were the inputs delivered?
— Yes, young master! — the nurse replied immediately, pointing to the platters. — But since we didn't understand the nature of the root you described, the servants brought these two different types of tubers that we harvested from the warehouses. The animal lard is melted in the pot beside, and the fresh milk and mountain-eagle eggs have already been cleaned.
I looked at the eagle eggs and swallowed hard. What an absurd size! It looks like the egg of a giant duck from Téia, I evaluated, surprised. But the biological data served perfectly. Upon inspecting the tubers, I opened a wide scientist smile: one of the roots was the perfect equivalent to the yellow potato, and the other was a legitimate cassava, although the natives gave rustic and unpronounceable names to those plants.
We began the culinary experiment. I coordinated the actions with precision:
— Katriny, peel and change the shape of the cassava, cutting it into small pieces. Deposit them in the caldron with clean water to cook over low heat until the pulp softens. Thys, clean the yellow potatoes, cut them into thin and uniform strips. Light the wood fire of the plate, melt a generous portion of the animal lard in the iron skillet and, as soon as the oil sizzles, throw the potato strips to fry.
The chemical result was instantaneous. In a few minutes, the delicious and unmistakable aroma of starch fried in animal fat began to wander through the stone corridors of the kitchen, making the salivary glands of all present operate at maximum capacity.
But that was only the initial protocol. I took a deep clay bowl and began to mix the eagle eggs, the fresh milk, a portion of the ground wheat from the pantry, and chopped pieces of triv—the wild apple of the region—adding the touch of gold: our purified brown sugar. I tried to handle the wooden spoon to beat the cake batter, but the weak muscles of my six-year-old arm failed right in the first turns.
I turned my eyes to the master cook, who now displayed an expression of pure curiosity and gastronomic amazement, with his guard totally dropped by the smell of the frying.
— Master... — I called the bearded man. — Could you apply your mechanical strength here? Beat this dough in circular movements, in a fast and vigorous way, until it gains an aerated and homogeneous texture. Do you accept the command?
— Yes... yes, young master! Leave it to me! — the man stepped forward with eyes shining, grabbing the wooden spoon and beating the mixture with an impressive energy.
As soon as the first potato strips became golden and crispy, I ordered Thys to remove them from the fat, deposit them on a clay plate, and sprinkle a pinch of the expensive salt from the boticários on top. I took the plate and offered the first portions to the two servants and to the baron's cook.
It was sharp in their countenance the pure delight. Who in the universe would be able to reject a portion of crispy french fries salted to the right point? I let out a silent laugh with the success of the experiment.
— Now, Katriny — I instructed the monk, who was chewing happily —, remove the cooked cassava pieces from the water, drain the humors, and pass them so Thys can fry them in the hot lard until they create a golden crust.
The two froze, surprised by that double stage of cooking and frying, but obeyed promptly. The cook, now entirely excited and with his professional pride hooked, leaned over the counter:
— And now, young master Kaelen? What is my next guideline? I already provided a massive iron pan with water and a secondary container for us to cook the dough of this cake in the steam of the embers!
— Excellent. Let's pour the dough and initiate the thermal cooking — I ordered.
— But... are you sure this mixture is going to transform into a noble cake? — he asked, inspecting the sweet texture.
I nodded positively with my head in a convicted way.
Two hours later, near midday, the perfume of that banquet had literally set on fire and invaded all the dependencies of the baron's large house. The smell was so overwhelming that even the heteromorphic twins, Lucius and Marcus, appeared sniffing through the cracks of the door, with their tails wagging with hunger. The court lunch was an astronomical success of imperial proportions; nobles and servants shared the plates with expressions of pure gastronomic ecstasy.
At the peak of the movement, Lord Arl and Lady Sylvia crossed the gates of the kitchens, coming across dozens of soldiers and visitors devouring fried cassava strips. Startled by the tumult, my parents stepped forward:
— What is happening here, Kaelen? What kind of assembly is this in the district of the pans? — my father asked, confused.
Thys stepped forward with her chest puffed with pure feudal pride, bowing before the sovereigns:
— Milorde, Lady Sylvia... young master Kaelen has gifted us with culinary recipes of divine sweetness and flavor! The banquet is served on the tables. Shall we have lunch, my Lord and my Lady?
The Artisan Gronis and the Contract on the Beach
After the end of the meal, everyone present in the mansion surrounded my stool, clamoring for the secrets and recipes of those fried potatoes and cassavas. To rid myself of that bureaucracy and focus on my real projects, I pointed my finger at my nurse and decreed that Thys would be the official holder of the knowledge, becoming responsible for teaching the frying techniques to the port cooks. She smiled, proud of her new function as a master.
My father approached me, adjusting his weapons belt with a look of pure military complicity.
— The business in the kitchen was a success, Kaelen... but thirteen long hours have already arrived. Shall we go to the cove? Our man already awaits stationed next to the horses at the exit door.
We walked to the external yard. To my complete surprise and happiness as a geek scientist, the figure that awaited us mounted on a rustic pony belonged to a legendary race: he was a legitimate dwarf. He displayed a short stature, but compensated in the width of his massive shoulders, sporting a braided beard that touched his iron tool belt and calloused hands that looked like stone mallets. Finally I had found a legitimate artisan of that builder race!
My father stepped forward and fixed his severe eyes on the worker, reinforcing the terms of the agreement:
— Master Gronis, pay attention to the guidelines of our house. I paid you a generous amount in gold coins from the Vance inheritance. Your only mission is to mold and build every gear and toy that my young son requests on this parchment. The agreement was sealed under the terms of a mystical contract of silence; you are forbidden by arcane laws from uttering a single word about what you witness on this east coast. Is the pact signed?
The dwarf let out a rustic and thunderous laugh, banging his massive hand against the handle of his carpentry axe.
— Don't waste your humors with worries, Lord Arl! The gold of the Vances is fair and my steel is loyal. I can carve and assemble any mechanical toy or wooden gear that your little boy invents for his amusement in the sand! — Gronis mocked, winking at me.
We climbed onto the mounts and rode for a few fractions until we reached that isolated white sand beach in the natural cove. As soon as we unloaded the tools, I opened my roll of papiro and extended the technical schemes before the eyes of the dwarf artisan.
Gronis leaned over the cuneiform drawings, and as his eyes swept the geometric schemes of the thermal evaporation tanks, the wooden reflux floodgates, and the selective filtration channels to retain the impurities of the tide, the rustic smile vanished instantly from his face. He turned pale behind his braided beard, his eyes widening in a dramatic way before the engineering of that hydraulic system designed to dry the seawater and isolate the crystals of pure sodium chloride.
The dwarf stepped back two paces on the white sand, his voice trembling with pure astonishment and technical dread:
— By the ancestors of stone... Milorde... are you fully sure of the content of this document? This... this complex refining hydraulic system was conceived by this little boy of six winters? This challenges the State secrets of the greatest mining guilds on the continent!
My father crossed his arms over his armor, maintaining a firm countenance and an astute wink in my direction.
— Don't forget the clauses of our agreement, Master Gronis — Arl reminded with severity. — You are rigidly bound by the constraints of the mystical contract of silence, aren't you? Leave the questions aside and focus on your carpentry.
— Yes, yes... milorde! I am going to do it, don't worry! I am already cleaning the wood! — the dwarf gestured hurriedly, measuring the planks with a totally renewed respect and fear.
I looked at the worker who was already starting to sweat on the sand and pulled the sleeve of my father's túnica, interrupting his military scolding.
— Dad, there's no use rushing Master Gronis — I said, with a corner smile. — You can let the dwarf build in his own time. As fast as he is with the axe, the system needs to dry and settle. Only tomorrow in the afternoon will we see the first real results of crystals in the clay.
My father looked at me, let out a resigned sigh, and shrugged, accepting my laboratory logic.
After giving the last technical instructions to the frightened Gronis, we climbed onto the mounts and returned to Baron Claus's residence. The return journey served for a long council of war and finance. Sitting in the carriage, we spent the whole time discussing the minimum details of salt distribution, transport costs, and how that small beach would change the power of our province.
I could see in my father's eyes how hopeful he was about what was to come. The man who before only thought of swords and border patrols now smiled, envisioning a future where House Vance would not just be the shield of the kingdom, but the heart of all its wealth.
I collapsed onto the soft bed of the room shortly after, hugging my diary of Master Galupono against my small chest. The day in the kitchen and on the beach had drained my last energies as a six-year-old child, but the fatigue was worth it. The salty problem of that province had its hours numbered, and tomorrow would bring the taste of our first and great scientific victory.
