Chương 67: Chapter 2.4: Maker’s Hand

Brutus in the lead and Favius not far behind, they cut a path straight through the knee-deep snow towards the cluster of workshops. Favius narrowed his eyes and let a breath of pneuma wash away his worries. He focused. Yes. Yes, I can feel it. It's— He looked over his shoulder at Urania. Just like what happened to her. But who could be having a breakthrough there? Or is there a hostile cultivator?

"What's happening?" cried Marius. Halfway there, Brutus called out to the boy who was scurrying after them under the watchful eyes of the Majordomo.

"Magic!"

"What?" Marius gasped, and Favius couldn't help but giggle alongside his older siblings. Soon they reached the courtyard where the snow had already been cleared away and workers stood still as statues. Some had even dropped earthenware or other items. As if possessed, they were staring at the woodworking workshop where the three siblings had spent so much time. Favius briefly spared a glance for the ones operating the pulping pots.

A woman was frozen in the middle of tearing apart old linen clothing, and two other slaves stood over the simmering pots, boiling them with lime ash solution or washing out the caustic remnants before the pulp was ready. Brutus rushed towards the door, but Favius briefly addressed the woman.

"What's going on?" She shrank back.

"Dominus, I do not know. It just... just happened," she stammered and briefly looked over at Urania, confirming Favius's suspicion. A breakthrough. But still, I haven't taught any of them anything revolutionary. So how? Within the woodworking workshop, the scene from outside repeated itself: a dozen woodworkers were standing around. But in the middle of the room, near the apparently completed screw press that Favius had commissioned after his return, Veren, the woodworking twin, lay on the ground.

His beekeeping brother Beren was holding his head and had shoved some half-finished piece of woodworking into the man's mouth. The scent of pitch, resin, and wood hit Favius alongside the tingling of electricity in the air. Sheets of lightning stung the other slaves that were holding the master woodworker's limbs to the ground as he seized, his eyes rolled all the way into his skull.

"There!" Caliga cried and rushed forward. She knocked down an almost finished beehive. Favius absently noted how Brutus caught the thing and let out a furious curse as his hand stuck to the recently pitch-painted outside of the hive. Arryn was the first to look up, and soon the eyes of a dozen shocked slaves looked at the newcomers. No, at Brutus, Favius realized with some relief. Only Arryn addressed Favius directly.

"He just said the machine is finished and he had something to think about. Then he collapsed and started screaming." He flinched back as an arc of lightning hit his hand. The boy, who was maybe twelve years old, clenched his jaw. Favius looked at Brutus, and the cultivator nodded and stepped forward.

"You've done well. There's no danger. In fact—" He grinned broadly and slapped Beren on the back.

"—it seems your twin has become a Cultor." Like an audience in a bad play, all the woodworkers gasped, hands shot to mouths, and prayers to the Mother were whispered all over. Favius briefly glanced at Arryn's workstation. It took me an embarrassing amount of time to learn that kid's name. We are so similar, but for our stations in life... If I had ended up in his body... He shook his head and noticed the latest attempt at carving text into a wooden block. But he's really talented with carving.

He's my ticket to getting woodblock printing going. While Veren slowly stopped emitting his cultivator's aura and began relaxing, the Majordomo spoke up, a broad smile on his face.

"If he earned an insight..." He looked at Brutus.

"Do you think he is—""Yes. A Cultor Artifactum."

"Why is that special?" mumbled Marius, almost forgotten in all the chaos. Brutus grinned at his little cousin.

"The Collegia hoard the insights necessary for craftsman cultivation and tend to entice promising craftsmen away from the familias." He gave Favius a meaningful look.

"It is fortuitous that we are blessed by the Fates that Veren earned this insight." Serran nodded along.

"Indeed, depending on what it is." But Favius couldn't help but smile, though internally his thoughts were racing. I didn't really teach him anything. He noticed a worried look from Brutus. Fuck. I deliberately rejected the quest to create breakthroughs in other people's cultivation. Is cultivation really so simple that merely handing out a bit of knowledge is sufficient to advance people? He ground his teeth for a moment, but finally laughed. Something for another time. Once I have a useful data set...

Under the care of Caliga and Beren, and under Brutus's encouragement, the others stepped back from Veren, and soon the newly minted cultivator stirred on the ground. He grumbled as his eyes slowly opened.

"What?" Beren leaned over him. Veren worked his jaw and spit out the piece of wood.

"I said take that disgusting wood out of my mouth, you dimwit," he grumbled and rubbed his head.

"What happened? I must have hit my head. It was so bright..." Brutus extended a hand and pulled the man up.

"Let me be the first to congratulate you, Woodcrafter. You have left the ranks of the mortals behind and are now among the cultivators." The craftsman's eyes widened.

"I... I'm a cultivator?"

"This—" Beren punched his brother in the biceps.

"Who's a dimwit now? What else did you think was happening?"

"Indeed," Caliga chimed in.

"Let me guess. You finished the machine and understood something about it." The woodworker chuckled.

"Yes, I—" He paused and looked at the half-finished piece of a beehive that was still stained by his spittle. His eyes narrowed, and Favius smelled ozone and something not unlike the presence of a cultivator he had felt several times at the party. Yet it was fragile, like seeing a pile of shards on the ground and knowing they were sharp instead of being immersed in a sea of broken glass.

"I..." Veren murmured. A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation. Brutus leaned towards him.

"Close your eyes." The slave swallowed, yet complied.

"Take deep breaths in and out. Concentrate on your memory and on the feeling of the piece of wood in your hand, and then simply say what comes to your mind." Favius shifted alongside his sisters. Especially little Marius and the girls were bouncing about as a strange silence settled over the workshop.

"It's as if I cannot quite see, but... no, inside the wood. It has a flaw." He pointed at a space where Favius could not make out anything.

"There is a weakness. If this was used for a door or wagon, it would break," he murmured. Favius ran a hand through his hair.

"So," he said, "you can just touch a piece of wood and know how to use it best?"

"I think so," he murmured.

"I've always been good at guessing structural strength, but..." Veren trailed off, his voice still heavy and dreamy. Brutus chuckled.

"A sense for materials. It is a rather valued insight among craftsmen. No sculptor would produce anything of value without such an insight. Yet for a woodworker..." He rubbed his beard. But Favius couldn't help but smile. This sounds like an amazing skill once we get into machines and mechanical energy. If he can know if the axle transmitting power from a water wheel will break or hold... Favius clicked his tongue and shook his head. That's equivalent to high-level material science.

Like using X-rays to check if machine parts are well made. Magic. He chuckled, but before he could continue, Veren got up and turned around.

"But never mind me, Lord Cultivator." He looked at Brutus, before turning to Favius.

"Young Master, I have done as you asked. The press is done. I was just testing the mechanism before—" He rubbed his head where it had hit the ground. Caliga's eyes widened as she was drawn into the man's excitement.

"So you haven't tested it to make paper?"

"I haven't." Serran cleared his throat.

"If this press truly works, then it will be useful far beyond the making of paper."

"That's for sure," Favius murmured, recalling the large presses requiring anchoring in the wall and the large lever he had seen used for the harvest. Arryn also ran around and grinned.

"So if this works, then—" He held up an ink-stained stamp.

"—we could actually make books." He looked at Favius with an excited expression, and even Favius leaned forward. He quickly looked at the ink, a mixture of linseed oil and lampblack, the residue of flame left against an earthenware jar. It was the common ink of the Republic. Favius looked over the workbench where various pieces lay. The old press, a simple one using a large stone for weight, and nearly a hundred pieces of paper with various ink stains, either from a feather or from Arryn's wood prints.

The results of our labor so far. He smiled. Favius clapped his hands.

"You've heard the Master Woodworker! He is eager to see if his project truly succeeded." Under murmuring and tottering, he and his siblings got involved, and only a quarter of an hour later a cauldron with the latest batch of neutralized wood pulp was brought in. Favius looked at the workbench where several failed sieves were strewn about. Marius poked at one of them.

"What are these?" Favius chuckled.

"The trick for making paper is that you need to catch the suspended fibers and produce an even sheet." He sniffed and poked one made of woven reeds in disgust.

"Getting the drainage correct, the balance of water running off and staying behind, is complicated." He sniffed, and Urania chuckled, poking at their first attempt, a simple rough-spun linen cloth.

"Yeah, that thing didn't drain at all. It was basically like a weird leaky soup bowl of paper juice."

"Don't call it paper juice," sniffed Caliga in disgust. Favius smiled as he picked up the last one. Another one of the joys of being in a more primitive world. I'm not one hundred percent certain, but back when I saw this in the museum, I would bet money they actually just used flyscreen. He handed the frame with a woven horsehair grid over to Beren, who checked the pot that was done stirring.

"It's still a bit hot," murmured Beren. But Brutus sniffed.

"Let me take care of it." He took the frame and, without reacting to the steaming water, caught some of the wood pulp. It drained well, and soon the first sheet of paper was produced. Urania handed the cultivator a piece of waxed felt, and together they put it on top of the drained yet still fluffy sheet of paper. They turned the frame and put it onto one of the desks that Favius had cleared at the last minute. Moment of truth. Brutus grinned, yet Caliga sniffed.

"Oh please. We fixed the stickiness problem like a week ago." Everyone let out a nervous chuckle, and after gently tapping the frame, Brutus lifted it up. A steaming but intact piece of paper lay on the felt. Favius clapped his hands together.

"Veren, get the press ready." Veren nodded and screwed the press open while Brutus produced more pieces of paper. Caliga gave him pieces of felt, and a pile grew as they were layering one on top of another, creating a sandwich of waxed felt and soft paper that in the end reached ten centimeters in height.

"That ought to be sufficient."

"Indeed," Serran said, and Favius couldn't help but chuckle as he noticed the greedy glint in the man's eyes. Well, he probably knows better than any of us except me what cheap paper will result in. Caliga and Urania carried the stack over and put it into the press, and the twins screwed the press tight, one holding the counter-lever, the other turning the screw. Soon the sandwich was compacted and water drained onto the workshop's floor.

A middle-aged slave woman scurried over to clean it up, and Favius smiled at her.

"Thank you." She returned the smile, yet inclined her head quickly. After the press had compressed the sandwich down to two centimeters, Favius nodded.

"I think that is sufficient."

"If you say so," Brutus chuckled. They opened up the press. Favius stepped forward, grabbed the now much drier bundle of felt, and carried it over to a desk. Slowly he started shifting and pulling at the upper layer of felt.

"What are you doing? Just open it," said Caliga, poking him in the shoulder. He sniffed.

"I'm trying to ensure that it doesn't stick to the paper so it won't tear apart." Favius glared at her, and she opened her mouth, yet Urania poked her in the side.

"No bickering. Just look." Brutus stepped forward and pulled off the felt layer. And there it was. Progress. The Future. Favius grinned at the piece of paper as Urania carefully took it off the lower layer of waxed felt. Veren was already there with a wooden tablet.

"And now all we have to do is dry it." Serran stepped forward and poked the thing.

"But what about the sizing?" Serran asked.

"Like this, it will just absorb ink without end, no?" Favius chuckled.

"We've already done some experiments, but—" He raised his voice, addressing everyone in the workshop.

"—about the sizing. Beren!" He snapped his fingers and recalled the values for handwriting paper. He gestured at the set of experiments where an entire woodworking bench had been turned into a scriptorium table.

"We settled on what? One part hide-glue, one third of a part of alum, and ten parts water."

"Yes," Brutus repeated.

"Yes," Arryn repeated enthusiastically before realizing he had interrupted a conversation between aristocrats. But Favius nodded at him.

"And what was your last solution for printing sizing?" The boy swallowed, then straightened.

"One part hide-glue, one quarter of a part of alum, and twenty parts water." Favius snapped his fingers.

"Very well. I'm certain that the Majordomo will pay out a bonus to everyone involved." He looked over, and Serran smiled. Cheers went up from inside the workshop and from the crowd that had gathered around the door.

"There are changes coming, but for now I have a task for all of you." Silence settled over the room as he felt everyone's attention settle on him. He met first Serran's, then Brutus's eyes.

"You've seen how we experiment. You know the recipes." He gestured first at Arryn, then the freshly minted woodworking cultivator and his twin brother.

"Take one tenth of those fractions of alum and water, and in each direction add five of those tenth fractions, and so on until you settle on what you all believe is the best possible sizing method." He grinned and pointed to another desk where wooden planes, several smoothed stone discs, and even pieces of copper lay.

"And don't forget to polish the paper after drying. I want results in two days. May you work with the Daughter's blessing." With those words, he grinned and walked out of the workshop. Murmurs erupted as soon as he stepped out the door, and his siblings soon followed. As they left the courtyard, Serran stepped up to him.

"Young Master, do you believe that to be wise? I do not doubt the talent of our workers, but leaving such an important task to them?" Favius shrugged and stopped and turned to Serran, meeting his gaze with unrelenting conviction. This is important. I can't change the Republic or this world. Not now. But I can affect my surroundings. He shook his head.

"I cannot solve every problem myself. I need workers—" He emphasized the word.

"—who think, who can solve simple problems without me, and who will continue improving even if my focus is elsewhere." Brutus stepped up to him and leaned forward.

"Favius. I understand. But giving the slaves too much autonomy is rarely wise." Favius looked at Brutus and recalled all the conversations they had. I've kept my opinions back, but Brutus is too observant.

"It is my will as the Young Master, and it is a necessity for those projects to progress further." His sisters and the adults studied him, but something in his eyes made both Brutus and Serran back down. The look in Brutus's eyes told him that this discussion was far from over. Yet Favius couldn't help but smile as they turned towards the house. Progress is always thought of as one heroic act. But consistently accumulating small changes, that's what really matters.