Total pages in book: 222
Estimated words: 210715 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1054(@200wpm)___ 843(@250wpm)___ 702(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 210715 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1054(@200wpm)___ 843(@250wpm)___ 702(@300wpm)
“A short barrel of bulko oil at three dens.”
Bulko oil came from fat, green berries. It was inedible because of its off-putting taste, so it was produced for industrial uses—grease for wheels and axles, quench medium for armor and weapons, and first aid burn ointment. It was nontoxic, possessed decent antibacterial properties, and best of all, it was solid at room temperature and had the consistency and texture of coconut oil.
Clover eyed the cauldron. “You can’t cook with bulko oil, my lady.”
Again with the my lady. “Maggie.”
“Maggie. It tastes awful.”
“We won’t be cooking with it.”
Clover glanced at the cauldron and waited to see if I would say anything else. I didn’t, so she forged ahead.
“A large vial of maidenflower oil at three dens and two quarters. It was on sale, and I got her down another half den.”
The clear glass vial held about two cups of dense, bright purple liquid. I opened the cork and waved my hand above the rim, fanning the scent to me. It smelled of vanilla with a hint of rose and just a pinch of something else. Lilac, maybe? Maidenflower oil was used to add fragrance and color in baking. I knew this because in the books Shana made a dessert with it.
“Two large loaf pans at two dens and ten small pans at two quarters each.”
She would go through the whole list. There was no stopping her.
“One bucket with a wooden stirring spoon at one den.”
Right.
“A large crock of yogurt at one den . . .”
Yogurt would come in very handy.
“One sack of lye at two dens and a quarter.”
A decent-sized sack, too. Kair Toren had an abundance of salt-tolerant plants and lye was cheap.
“Two pairs of heavy work mittens, and two pairs of stonecutter spectacles at two dens each.”
Safety first.
Clover frowned at our collection of supplies. “What is it all for?”
“Do you want me to tell you, or do you want to be surprised?”
She thought about it. “I want to be surprised.”
“In that case, let’s mix the lye.”
I put on the stonecutter spectacles, which were large, ridiculously heavy, and attached to a leather band that went around my head, put on the work mittens, and set about mixing the lye. Five drems ought to do it for the test batch. I measured the powder and mixed it into water.
The simplest recipe I knew called for olive oil, coconut oil, and lye at thirty-three percent each by weight.
“I need five drems of bulko oil and pan oil, each.”
Clover reached for the scales. “See, I didn’t forget anything when we went to the market.”
“Me.”
“I’m sorry?”
“You forgot me. I wanted to go to the Dog Market. You knew I wanted to go but you left without me.”
“You were tired and resting,” Clover said carefully. “Are you unhappy with how much money I spent?”
“No, and that’s not the point.”
I took the cauldron off the heat and set it on the stone block. Should be hot enough to melt the oils. I added the bulko oil to it and watched it liquefy.
“I had a friend who worked for a merchant.”
Me. I was the friend. In college I’d switched to political science aiming at law school. In my senior year, I interned at four different law firms and found out that I hated law with the passion of a thousand suns.
A series of random jobs followed. I got hired by an insurance agent, and six months into it the agency went bankrupt. I tried to be a journalist and couldn’t keep myself fed. I tried civil service and watched my supervisor stress-cry in a closet on my first day while my coworker assured me that I would get used to it.
I ended up at a storage place run by an elderly couple. It gave me plenty of time to read and figure out what I wanted to do with my life, while putting a roof over my head. Sort of. The job market was lousy across the board. Last year my roommate finally threw in the towel and moved back with her parents, so now I spent my days off delivering food to make up for her portion of the rent.
I realized that Clover was waiting on me.
“As I said, I had a friend who worked for a merchant. The merchant was elderly, and she would get confused when managing the accounts. The previous servant warned my friend not to correct her because she would get flustered and upset. He told her to smile, nod, and say, ‘Yes, tress,’ and then do things the way they were supposed to be done once she left.”
My elderly employers knew just enough about QuickBooks to complicate both their life and mine.
The oils were melted, and the mix had sufficiently cooled. I carefully poured the premeasured lye into the cauldron and set about stirring it.