Chương 30: Chapter 1.30: Summer’s End

Favius sighed as he studied the result of the latest attempt at making paper. In my defense, it's close to paper. More like carton, but— He poked at the thick, coarse brown sheet, and it began crumbling. Veren stepped up behind him alongside Caliga.

"I still don't get why you think boiling wood shavings will give you papyrus, but we serve at the pleasure of the young aristocrats," he said, barely suppressing the mocking tone. Favius could only groan. He's not wrong. Ever since the success of the beehives, he had expanded his corner of the workshop. For most of the summer, he had tried to introduce paper to this world. Several large earthen jars were slowly boiling or soaking wood pulp.

His basin for suspending the wood pulp in water and his coarse linen fabric sieve for scooping the paper were the best he had achieved so far. I've been to a papermaking event at a historical museum once. I've seen this. I have the same equipment. And I know that wood is used to make paper. So what am I doing wrong?

Caliga shook her head and stepped back, and together with Veren, put the finishing touches on one of the dozen beehives that had been produced ever since the initial three had been so readily accepted by the bees. Well, except for the one where the hive died, but the next one we transplanted took to it. Apparently, hives tend to be quite fussy about being violently thrown into a new box. Who could have known? He smiled sourly as he poked a stick into one of the soaking wood pulp pots.

He turned around and saw that Caliga was painting the outside of a hive with a mixture of tar and resin. It was Veren who had proposed the idea. Paints are such a strange industry. I never really thought about it on Earth, but the ability to preserve structures was probably really important when they developed it, preventing rust and rot. He shook his head and smiled as he saw his sister finishing up the hive. She really took to this woodworking thing.

And honestly— He leaned back against the workbench, putting his paper experiments behind him. I feel at home in this workshop. Among all those craftsmen. They've gotten used to us. He saw them bickering and gossiping while working without much concern for the presence of the two young aristocrats. Maybe it's time I stopped saving the questions I gained from the entity's last quests, so I can figure out what I'm doing wrong with papermaking. He balled his fists. But I was so sure!

People in the fucking Middle Ages figured it out, so why can't I? For Christ's sake, I have a goddamn degree in physics! Suddenly the door opened, and the people on the other side of the room stiffened, stopped talking, and began focusing diligently on their work. Serran Vale, the majordomo, entered the workshop.

"Favius," he said, stepping up to him.

"Walk with me." Favius joined the majordomo, studying his face. He seems relaxed. So Favius ventured a guess.

"The books?"

"Yes. Five copies of each of them. They're done," Serran said, gesturing to another workbench.

"As are your sand clocks." A broad smile spread over Favius's face as he accepted two books from the middle-aged majordomo as they stepped out into the afternoon sun. On the Basic Principles of Mathematics and On the Basic Principles of Measurement. He smiled as he checked the scribe's work. The mathematics book was straightforward—pre-calculus.

The measurement book—he opened it to the latter section, where he had added some discussions on basic scientific thinking, methodology, looking for trends, reporting results, and so on.

"I'm still curious what the philosophers will make of your ideas on methodology," Serran said with a faint smile.

"Not that it behooves a mere majordomo to comment on such affairs." Favius shrugged. He's not wrong. Cassian didn't react well to those parts in the lectures. But I need to spread a scientific mindset, and the earlier I start, the better.

"I hope that my books are useful enough that whatever controversial ideas are in them will simply get swallowed alongside the juicy bait." Serran nodded as they walked together toward the estate.

"Oh, and another thing, young master. The Dominus wishes to see you in two days." Favius raised an eyebrow. My father wants to speak with me? Well, that's a first. Favius nodded, but noticed that Serran was looking into the distance, at the bustling of the estate's slaves and freedmen.

"There's a lot of activity recently. What's going on?" Serran stopped and narrowed his eyes.

"What's going on? The green harvest is coming, of course." This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

"The green harvest?" Favius asked.

"Yes. We are nearly out of gold grain, so now we have to harvest the green grain until this year's gold grain is ready. Haven't you been told this by your previous majordomo?" Favius shook his head hesitantly.

"I… probably…" he trailed off. I kind of stopped noticing the missing memories and the holes, but it's all still there. The knowledge this body lost and the knowledge I gained… He swallowed as he remembered the empty spaces where another family had been in his mind. Favius shook his head.

"So you're telling me that you can't preserve grain until next summer?" Serran snorted.

"You always ask the strangest questions, young master. If you are interested in matters of preservation, you should speak to the master of provisions. You'll find him near the storehouses." The old majordomo smiled and gave Favius a grin.

"Who knows, maybe you have some ideas on how to improve the preservation of foodstuffs as well." Favius tilted his head to the side as the majordomo left for the estate.

"You know, I might very well have some ideas there," he murmured before smiling in turn. The following days continued in the usual blur of physical training and cultivation with Brutus, and education in more gentle arts with Cassian. Even the mathematics lessons had settled down. Cassian had started asking questions, following his lectures diligently, and no longer challenged Favius. Nonetheless, he was distracted by the upcoming conversation.

Soon after a lunch he had barely tasted, he found himself in front of the door of Marcus's office, two books on top of a box of several sand clocks in his arms. He knocked on the door.

"Enter." Marcus's strict voice could be heard through the wood, and Favius pushed the door open. He walked forward and put the box next to the chair before lowering his head.

"Father, I am honored that you saw fit to invite me to speak with you," he said, suppressing a smile. I'm actually surprised I managed to keep the venom out of my voice there. However, the senator barely noticed as he looked over another document.

"Son." He looked up briefly and nodded toward the chair, on which Favius settled down.

"I called you to inform you that you and your sisters are going to attend a senatorial party. I have been—" he hesitated on the word as if it was something distasteful "—asked to present you to certain other influential figures. You will receive training from our retainers in preparation for the party. To ensure you and your siblings behave." Marcus looked up, and his eyes speared Favius. He felt a tingling which made a shiver run down his spine. It seemed Marcus spoke down at him from a golden throne.

Is this his charismatic cultivation ability? He shook his head and nodded.

"Yes, Father, I will."

"Most importantly," Marcus continued, knocking a finger heavily onto the dark wood of the desk, "there will be a certain conversation where people will inquire as to your attitude toward the change of government. I will tell you at a later date what to say exactly, but the gist is this: you are not going to fuss about it. You are going to directly and without question denounce the dictator and his actions."

Favius grit his teeth and looked the man in the eyes, but something made him look away within less than a second. His authority was not to be denied.

"Yes, Father."

"Very well. Then you may—""If—" Marcus's eyes shot up and narrowed.

"If?" he said, not quite a question, not quite a threat, yet sufficient to make the room feel several degrees colder. Favius pedaled back.

"If you would give me a moment of your time. I want to show you something. As any son would want to show his father his achievements." Marcus tilted his head, but hummed.

"Serran told me about your projects. Very well." He gestured toward the box, and Favius reached down, presenting the sand clocks—wooden boxes with funnels, sand, and markings.

"You see, we have created markings that allow the consistent measuring of time for various fractions of an hour." He pointed to one that had just been calibrated.

"Even short time intervals that would otherwise only be measurable by a water clock can be measured consistently and cheaply." He almost stumbled over his words. Marcus turned from obligatory interest to something else. He reached out and turned one of the sand clocks, and the sand began running. He studied the device.

"If the flow is stable… hmm. This seems much less messy than a water clock. I know a few mages and alchemists..." He stroked his chin and turned the remaining sand clocks one by one.

"This might indeed garner some interest, boy." Favius could already see the calculations running behind the man's eyes. Politics. He cares about the leverage this could give him. And I hadn't even considered that mages might be interested in this. His foot was in the door. He reached down to the box again.

"The process for constructing them and how they work is described in this book." He pushed forward On the Basic Principles of Measurement.

"While this book describes the mathematics Serran might have told you about." He put forth the other book.

"Yes. My wife told me that you had some strange ideas that upset your tutor." Favius sighed.

"You probably have also heard that my tutor and I don't quite see eye to eye." Marcus shrugged while skimming the book on mathematics.

"Indeed." Favius took a deep breath. Now or never.

"All right, Father. I will say whatever you want and ensure that my sisters behave at the party if you can ensure that those books and their copies are loaned to at least thirty influential scholars who will actually read them." Marcus raised a single eyebrow on his otherwise expressionless face.

"That is a rather odd request, boy—son." Favius shrugged. Time to channel my inner Brutus.

"Doesn't every man strive for glory? I developed those ideas, and I want them to spread. I want my name—" he tapped on the cover of one of the books "—to be known. And wouldn't it add to your reputation as well if your son is known for scholastic achievements?" Marcus chuckled and studied Favius for a dozen heartbeats. He shook his head.

"I cannot promise to pass them along, because whatever I pass along to scholars of repute will reflect on my reputation." Favius pressed his lips together and took a deep breath, but before he could respond, Marcus raised a finger.

"However, I will pass the books to scholars I trust, and if they believe them worth spreading, then I shall do as you ask."

"Have a nice evening, son," he continued. Favius narrowed his eyes. Should I ask for an oath? But each moment he remained, he felt his heartbeat rising and the temperature in the room sinking. No. I shouldn't push him too far. He stood up, picked up the box, and as he reached the door, he turned around.

"The majordomo possesses the remaining eight copies. You can spread it to more people."

"Thank you," Marcus said in a neutral tone, already focused on another set of documents. Once the door closed behind him, Favius let out a long breath. Just as his mood settled again and his heartbeat slowed, Brutus walked down the corridor, his face a mask of fury and frustration.

"Favius!" he called out, turning and gesturing for him to follow.

"What happened?" Favius ran after the cultivator, who strode quickly out of the estate.