Tulian Republic

  Capital

  Forty Days Until Spring

  Evie did not know what to think of the Chemist's... shack. Technically, it was known as the "Tulian Republic Fertilizer Production Pnt," but... it was a shack. There was no other word for the shoddy thing.

  The Fertilizer Pnt was built at the bottom of a coastal cliff, with the ndscape raising away behind it at a remarkably strict angle, sliding up into one of the many tall cliffs that distinguished the southern Tulian coastline. The entrance was accessed by a thin wooden bridge running over a dredged channel of rushing seawater, and to the right of the bridge was a rge waterwheel, which was currently being powered by the influx of a tidal rise. As Master had expined it, the sea would power the waterwheel by rushing in to fill a reservoir, and that same water would power it once more, draining when the tides retreated.

  That clever waterwheel was the sturdiest element of the building, however. The rest of it was crumbling stone bricks, empty windows, and a roof which abruptly and unintentionally changed to a steeper angle halfway through its sweep. The door that Evie and Hurlish stepped up to was loose on its hinges, creaking as the wind pushed it back and forth. There was no handle. Only a worn spot in the wood where countless hands had shoved it open.

  They shoved it open, stepping into the dark interior. The inside of the Chemist's Shack was not as disorganized as its exterior suggested, but it was a close thing. Powders in various states and colors were held in barrels throughout the room, most of the containers firmly sealed. After a thorough expnation from Master on the process and deadly potential of the product being created, Evie was relieved to see that the primary ingredients of sulfur, 'nitrate', and charcoal dust were kept in opposite corners of the room.

  Evie noted that there was no sign of finished product anywhere in the building, save for a few sparse barrels pced beneath the room's central contraption. There the ingredients were being poured into a shallow circur trough, through which two massive stone wheels were slowly grinding, driven by the waterwheel. In one thing official documentation and reality coincided; this was an oil mill, though it had now been repurposed for a far more sinister task. The ccking of wooden gears complimented the slow sound of powder being pulverized into miniscule granules, a trickle of fine powder dropping through a filtered slot when it reached an appropriate size. At the moment it seemed only charcoal was being ground, judging by the dark color of the sand in the trough.

  Evie was rather startled by the sight of the man tending the ponderous contraption. He was a Vanara, a remarkably rare sort of individual, such that this was only the second of his kind that Evie had seen in-person. Evie promptly threw open her mental index of ancestral customs of the Vanara people, the encyclopedia one of many that had been driven into her over the course of her education.

  The Vanara, unlike cat and lizard folk, near universally despised the title "apefolk." Though the title was perhaps accurate, considering the full-body swathes of fur, prehensile tail, and prominent fanged muzzle, they were a people that took pride in their more humanoid aspects, rather than their more animalistic simirities. Many Vanara adherents to the Church of Daygon insisted that monkeys and apes had been built in their image, rather than the other way around, and it wasn't Evie's pce to question such things.

  This particur Vanara man was rgely as Evie had been instructed to expect of his people. His fur was majority a tawny brown, with small patches nearing bck in a few pces, particurly dark at the end of his long tail. He had golden eyes set deeply above a shorter than average muzzle, which was worked up in a thin press of effort. His fur had a thin white ther rising up in pces, which Evie vaguely recalled as the Vanara equivalent of sweat.

  What was atypical of him, however, was his dress. Many of the "folk" pced less emphasis on clothing than those without fur or scales, yet the man was dressed from head to toe. Master might have found it curious that he wore a knee-length skirt beneath a woman's shirt, but Evie didn't. She had learned that Master's culture had a considerably greater emphasis pced on assigning clothes to specific genders for all its members, unlike Sporaton and Tulian styles, which only distinguished between gender once one was a member of nobility. No, it was not his skirt that Evie found unusual. It was his shirt, which had clearly been tailored for a (prodigious) set of breasts that he very clearly cked. Evie would have thought he simply acquired the garment from someone else, but beyond the empty pocket for breasts, it was well-fit. A curious sight, and not one that Evie could expin with her cking knowledge of Vanara habits.

  Evie and Hurlish watched unnoticed for a few moments while he dragged a long rake through the charcoal trough, ensuring an even distribution of material.

  "Greetings, sir," Evie eventually called out, when they failed to be noticed. "We've come to inspect the progress of your work on behalf of the Governess."

  The Vanara man straightened as if struck, tail jutting straight out from his skirt as he dropped his rake. He scrambled backward several feet, eyes wide, reaching for something beneath his belt.

  "Woah, big boy," Hurlish hollered, patting the air in a gesture of calm. "It's all good. No need to panic."

  The Vanara's hand froze behind his back, muscles bunched up tightly beneath his fur as he gripped something. His golden eyes flicked between Evie and Hurlish.

  "Who're you, then?"

  "I am the Governess's sve, Evie, and this is our partner, Master Smith Hurlish," Evie said, putting a hand to her chest, then to Hurlish's arm. "As the Governess is busy with preparations in the capital, she could not tour the facility herself, and entrusted the task to us."

  The man's hand returned to view without subtlety, a sigh of relief rushing from him. "Oh, thank the gods. I thought we'd finally been found." He swallowed hard, composing himself. "Why in Their Names did the Governess not see fit to send a letter ahead of your visit?"

  Evie frowned at the implication she cked forethought, but didn't let it get beneath her skin.

  "Officially, neither you nor this facility exist. There is no way to securely or secretly deliver a letter to your person."

  "Doesn't the Governess have any runners she trusts? Surely there'd be someone in her government that's not gonna sell me out to Sporatos, right?"

  Evie's frown deepened. "She does. You are looking at them. And regardless, would you have reacted any less poorly to a different face darkening your doorway?"

  The Vanara man's tail curled. "If it were some little runner brat, rather than you two? I think I'd have had less of a heart attack."

  Evie's teeth grit, irritation getting the better of her. Before she could say anything unwise, however, there was a great cracking sound, splinters flying from the trough. The man's rake was being eaten up by the stone wheel, and with a howling yelp, he leapt to tear it out of the way.

  After such a contentious introduction, Evie felt no compulsion to rush to the man's aid. She simply stood back and watched as he tugged violently at the rake, trying to snap it off at the base so the entire thing wouldn't be sucked under the wheel. Evie felt a fsh of jealousy as his tail wrapped around the handle to help him pull, demonstrating a level of control over the limb that she cked, but it wasn't severe enough to lessen her enjoyment. When the Vanara man finally ripped the rake free, he did so abruptly enough that he tumbled backward, holding the ruined stick of wood in both hands, more frothy sweat beading up across his body.

  "Now that we have introduced ourselves," Evie said, ignoring the entire dispy, "may I ask after your name, sir?"

  He blinked repeatedly at her, rhythmically. Evie vaguely recalled that this was a Vanara substitute for their more limited facial expressions.

  "The name's Kispa, First Tulian Alchemist. My companion is..." He looked about the room, then frowned. "...Not here at the moment, it would seem. His name is Vern, Second Alchemist."

  "Good to meetchya," Hurlish said, rightly preempting Evie's response before her desire to snark got the better of her. "You need any help with that?"

  He blinked again, a different pattern. "With my rake?"

  "Yeah. I could whittle you up another one."

  "That's... not necessary." The Vanara shook himself, flinging beads of froth to the floor. Evie once more felt envy as his tail began to run up and down his exposed fur, flicking more of the pseudo-sweat from his body. "I've got plenty of rakes. What I do need is some damn help with these barrels. You a strong sort, orc?"

  "Her name is Hurlish," Evie cut in.

  "You a strong sort, Hurlish?"

  "Y'could say that."

  "Perfect. See these three barrels, there? They're finished, and they're eighty pounds each. You can haul them off to one of the storage celrs."

  Evie's eyebrows rose. Astoundingly presumptuous, to order the Governess's partner around like that. Hurlish, of course, saw little issue with the treatment, and gamely walked over to heft one of the barrels up.

  Both Evie and Kispa cringed as the orc threw the barrel up onto her shoulder, not even checking the lid's seal before doing so.

  "Hurlish?" Evie called. "Could you perhaps be more careful with that?"

  "Why? It needs fire to go off, right?"

  "In theory, yes," Kispa said, "but in practice, I'd rather be safe than scattered across a country mile. If you could just... hold it in both hands, perhaps?"

  "Worrywart," Hurlish said, grunting as she reached down to grab a second barrel. She shoved it up on her other shoulder, then turned to Kispa. "Where's it go?"

  While it was true that Vanara were not the most expressive, it did not take a cultural expert to interpret Kispa's pained face. Nonetheless, he answered, however hesitantly.

  "This was a vilge, before the storms blew down the wooden structures. There are old celrs and basements around the area that survived intact, and we've been using them to store it. You should be able to find them simply enough. Just–"

  "Be careful, yeah," Hurlish said, moving to a door. She lifted a knee and knocked it open, stooping beneath the doorframe to exit without bumping her head. Evie watched her go, shaking her head.

  And here I'd hoped the pregnancy would engender a greater sense of caution in her, Evie thought. Why must she insist on such irreverence? At least she had the good sense to follow Master's advice and curtail her drinking.

  Beyond that, however, Hurlish had continued her life as usual. It couldn't be said she was unconcerned about the pregnancy, but she seemed to struggle to understand that things that were a risk to her were also a risk to their child. Hurlish would disagree with that assessment, ciming Evie's paranoia far outstripped her reason, but Evie had remained stalwart. As far as she was concerned, even the boiling heat of Hurlish's forge would better be avoided; who knew what proximity to the roaring fires was doing to their unborn child? If Evie had her way, Hurlish would have been resting in their quarters from now until the month after the birth.

  Arguing with the orc was hopeless, however, and so she let the woman go. The stone wheel had finished running over the caught section of Kispa's rake, and as he began picking out fragments of wood from the charcoal, she took out her notebook, surveying the room for fws.

  She took her notes with the unique quill Master and Hurlish had recently produced for her. The "fountain pen" was little more than an ink reservoir atop a metal nib, rudimentary in its construction, but the ability to write without an inkwell was something wondrous. Master had apparently attempted to recreate something called a "ball point" pen, but hadn't had success, and considered this gift a paltry second pce. Evie had thought that ridiculous, but couldn't reassure her lover otherwise.

  Hurlish returned several times to take away more barrels as Evie evaluated the workspace, and the human Alchemist named Vern also showed up, returning to his duties after an early lunch. Apparently the Alchemists had a few other assistants, but they were absent today, sent off to surreptitiously collect the necessary ingredients to create bck powder. For as bothersmoe as Kispa had been thus far, she at least had to admit that he was serious about maintaining the project's secrecy.

  Evie clipped her pen to the back of her notebook as she finished her appraisal, addressing Kispa.

  "I have finished my evaluation, but before I begin reying what alterations you will need to undertake, I would hear what you believe to be necessary. There is no sense in me correcting that which you already know to be problematic."

  Kispa looked up from the trough, seeming mildly surprised. It seemed he hadn't actually anticipated Evie consulting his opinion.

  "Well... the roof rattles something fierce, during storms. A part of me worries it's gonna come down on top of us, but at the same time, it's sted ten years as it is now. Might be nice to get some carpenters up there. As for the process itself..." Kispa's tail tapped his chin thoughtfully. "More assistants would always be nice, but more mouths mean more chances for things to slip, I know. Carts, maybe, to transport the barrels to storage." His expression brightened. "Oh! And one important thing."

  Kispa waved around himself, indicating the entire room with an airy gesture. "What's it all damn for? What are we making? Why are we making it? I've been following the Governess's instructions, and her precautions, but none of us know why, other than the fact that the stuff might go up like dragon fire. We're busting our asses for... what? Why? She said it's important, but it's been months of us toiling away, breaking our backs, and you two are the first that've bothered to show up."

  Not for the first time, Evie was struck by the remarkable speed with which Master's emphasis on equality between citizens was taking root in Tulian culture. In her old life, the speech Kispa had just delivered to her would have been utterly unthinkable. To speak to nobility in such a fashion was a flogging offense at the very least, if not grounds for imprisonment. Considering the loftiness of Evie's prior station, she wouldn't have been seen as extreme for ordering his execution. Questioning a superior's orders simply wasn't done. Yet here, in this new nation, Evie only pursed her lips.

  "You are aiding in the war effort, Alchemist. What more do you need to know?"

  "A lot, actually. The Governess gave us ingredients, a recipe, and a goal for how much she'll need, but beyond that, we're lost. She wants us to store it nice and secure, but make it ready to move at a moment's notice. To where? Moved in what? I assume barrels carried in carts, but once it arrives? Will she be scooping it out of the things with her fingers? Should we prepare smaller packages, or measuring cups, or will they be lit afire and rolled down a hill at the enemy? There is much we could do to prepare, if someone gave us a damn clue as to what we're doing."

  "Someone, hm? And I presume you mean me to be that someone?"

  He spread his hands wide. "You're the one here, aren't you?"

  Evie slipped her notebook away, evaluating the man. Master had said that Kispa, as the coordinator of the powder project, was the single most vulnerable elements of all Tulian's hidden preparations. On one hand, that meant that Evie could see little reason why revealing more information would worsen things; his capture was nearly as dangerous a possibility as was conceivable. On the other hand, there was no such thing as a true worst case scenario, and satisfying the man's curiosity served next to no purpose.

  If Evie were acting alone, she would have said nothing, and perhaps threatened to have Kispa repced if he thought the secrecy of his duty was so burdensome. But in this capacity, she was representing Master, who would have done no such thing. Master was the sort who distributed marching orders to the entire army ahead of time, ensuring they knew exactly where they were going, and held many important government meetings in public spaces, so that the people could hear her rationale for her decisions.

  Evie suppressed a groan. She knew exactly what Master would have done in her position, no matter how vehemently Evie would have disagreed.

  "Are you familiar with atmospheric pressure, Alchemist?"

  The apparent non-sequitur seemed to take him off-guard. "I am. Sealed vessels, when taken from great heights to the ocean, or vice versa, react differently to the weight of air that surrounds them."

  "And when the vessel is opened, if the surrounding air is lighter, it rushes out. If you were to pce a piece of paper at the exit of the vessel, it would be blown back by the wind created, correct?"

  "I suppose...?"

  "A difference in pressure, once released, is therefore capable of propelling other objects. If, hypothetically, there were a material that released a great amount of air upon demand, it could be used to push other objects as one pleases."

  Kispa nodded slowly, gears grinding. "All you've said is accurate, but I fail to see the use. This material does indeed create quite the cloud upon combustion, but not so much that one could... well, perhaps..." Kispa's tail bounced as he worked through his thoughts. "If one were to surround a particurly rge amount of the powder with an airtight material, the expansion could be quite violent when the container burst. Is this the purpose?"

  "One of them, but not the most important. Imagine if a smaller amount of powder were pced not in a sealed container, but one with a single exit. That exit then is loosely jammed with an object, creating an avenue of least resistance for the air to expand towards."

  "It would move it, yes?" Kispa asked. "This is what you are leading me towards?"

  "Yes."

  "But the utility would be limited. A small amount of powder couldn't provide much of consequence, surely."

  "I take it you haven't detonated any of the material yourself, yet?"

  "Only small pinches from each finished batch, to ensure the mixture is acting appropriately."

  "I would recommend you do no more than that, then. While I haven't seen the potential of this 'bck powder' in person, the illusory demonstrations Master provided were... illuminating. A city named Beirut comes to mind, in particur."

  "I haven't heard of the pce."

  "Of course not. It was on my Master's old world. Improperly stored material, of simir make to this 'bck powder', was inadvertently lit."

  "And?"

  "Two hundred died, and a sizable portion of the city was demolished. The crater was four hundred feet in diameter, and the explosion could be heard some hundred and fifty miles away."

  Kispa's tail slowly drooped. Evie did her best not to take satisfaction in the reaction. She offered him a polite, commiserative smile.

  "Would you like me to inspect the storage facilities, to see if we might avoid a simir event?"

  "Well." Kispa licked his lips. "Yes ma'am. I think I would appreciate that."