Chapter 92 - The Farm in Irttat
Chapter 92: The Rotting Garden 10
Stepping on the tail-end of summer, the autumn clothes had been cut and sewn well ahead of time.
The young sheep brought home the previous year had now matured and produced their first full fleece, yielding twenty to thirty pounds each, far more than the modest autumn shearing of the year before.
The sheep were bathed regularly, and their wool was clean and lustrous. A large sack of fleece was sent to the tailor to be weighed, and even the tailor marveled at its quality.
Soaked in chemical dyes, the wool was fashioned into three knee-length hooded cloaks. The inner lining was sewn with spacious pockets, and when wrapped around the body, the cloaks enclosed the wearer snugly, wonderfully warm.
Violet's cloak was cobalt blue; Lucita's was a quiet deep brown; little Linnea's was a bright okra yellow.
The remaining wool was knitted into scarves, while a narrow runner with green patterns was woven to lie beside Linnea's bed.
Unlike the gentle tones of natural dyes, chemical dyes possessed an almost intrusive vividness. The colors remained even and brilliant, giving everything a crisp, modern appearance unmistakably associated with the city.
Add a pair of small cowhide boots, and the three of them had, at least in appearance, almost completely blended into city life.
By July, a new crop of reckless children, just like all the children before them, ignored the warnings of their older sisters and ventured into the Rose Street cemetery several times at dusk to "explore," only to discover that nothing strange happened at all.
The cemetery had grown much quieter and safer since Lucita's household moved into the neighborhood. The sounds of shattering glass, the cacophony of feasting and revelry, all seemed to have vanished entirely.
Before long, the old rumors were dismissed as garbled gossip.
The memory of crowds is short. It is always so.
Unsurprisingly, the cemetery soon became the ideal setting for children's games of hide-and-seek and outdoor adventures. Lucita watched the children chasing one another through the streets from a distance, smiled, set down the book she had been reading, The Most Powerful Research Magic: The Force of Time, and stood to greet her customer: "What seeds do you need today?"
The seed shop grew busier with each passing day. As crop after crop proved successful, people gradually shifted their attention from vegetables to staple grains.
Lucita hulled mature rice herself and steamed it into glistening, translucent grains. Sometimes she mixed it with side dishes and small pieces of meat. Sometimes she shaped it into rice balls and gave them away as gifts with larger seed purchases.
After half a month of this, the rice's soft, pleasantly chewy texture had won widespread praise.
When newspaper employees began appearing at the door after work to ask about purchasing rice, the packets of rice seed on the shelves finally began attracting attention.
During the ideal planting season, the first people to sow Lucita's rice were wealthy farmers and minor nobles with enough land and money to experiment.
That day, she met a rather unusual customer.
It was already evening. Ordinarily, Lucita would have closed the shop long ago and started preparing dinner, but the steady stream of customers had kept her open later than usual.
She had just finished trimming the flowers outside when she noticed a woman hesitating near the entrance.
She set down the shears: "Are you looking to buy something?"
The woman hesitated, then nodded.
She wore a canvas coat that had been washed so many times its color had faded. Two buttons were missing from the front, apparently never replaced. She held the coat closed around herself with an awkward, self-conscious air.
"Did you say… a recording conch from a few months ago?" Lucita glanced at the counter and shook her head: "I'm afraid I'm out of stock of recording conchs. I'm sorry."
Then, seeing the woman's face fall, she kindly added: "If you'd like to hear Starfire, you can visit Lady Duren's theater company. Admission is only five copper coins. The venue isn't as grand as Tulip Concert Hall, but they do perform it there.
“Or there's a recording conch mounted atop a column in the abandoned cemetery on Rose Street. Every day at noon it plays Starfire on schedule. You can listen for free, though there aren't any seats, and it's admittedly a rather eerie place."
Apparently reassured by Lucita's gentle manner, the woman explained awkwardly: "I... I wanted to send a recording conch to my friend... a very important friend."
Lucita raised an eyebrow slightly.
The woman scratched her head and pressed: "So... will there be more available later? I could leave a deposit."
As she spoke, she felt around in her pockets. She drew out a handful of copper coins, but as she did, an opened envelope came out with them.
The thin envelope fluttered to the ground. Lucita instinctively bent down to help her pick it up.
In that flash of a moment, Dilys stood rigid, every drop of blood in her body nearly frozen.
She hurriedly bent as well, reaching to take the letter back from Lucita's hand. But in that instant, the coins she was still holding slipped from her grip. They scattered across the floor with a clatter, rolling in all directions around Lucita's feet.
Her mind went completely blank. She hovered in her half-bowed posture for two heartbeats, unsure whether to retrieve the letter or the coins first. In the end she pulled the letter gently from Lucita's hand and tucked it carefully back into her own pocket: "...Thank you."
Lucita appeared to take no notice, and continued to crouch down to help collect the scattered coins. Dilys crouched as well, head bowed, silently gathering them up, seeming afraid to meet Lucita's eyes.\
Lucita gathered the coins and, in a casual tone, asked: "Are you sending the conch to the friend who wrote to you?"
Dilys wasn't sure whether Lucita had seen the writing on the envelope, and cleared her throat before answering: "Yes."
Lucita considered for a moment: "Friendship truly is worth tending with care. Here, I have one at home, one I'd kept for myself. Let me give it to you instead. I hope your friendship lasts long and well."
The mysterious young shopkeeper reached into a drawer behind the counter and produced a shimmering, iridescent conch, holding it out to her. Dilys took it, and the whole world felt light and unreal, like a dream.
She walked out the door with it in hand, then glanced back one last time at the extraordinary seed shop overflowing with flowers and greenery. She thought of the shopkeeper's black eyes, calm and clear, as though they could see straight through a person's heart. Letting out a long breath, she pressed a hand tightly over the large conch in her pocket and turned away.
.
After Dilys left, the sun was on the verge of setting. Lucita closed up the shop and began preparing that evening's dinner.
Tonight's dinner was chicken-and-mushroom soup.
As she chopped mushrooms, her hands worked automatically while her thoughts replayed the face of the woman who had come into the shop.
Even though the woman had snatched the envelope back almost immediately, Lucita's extraordinary eyesight had made it effortless to read the writing on it.
The recipient's name was Dilys. And the sender's name—
Written in dark blue ink. At the end, a familiar sweeping flourish curved across the page: a signature she had seen many times before, on test-tube labels and at the ends of letters, Callen Anastasia.
She tipped the butter-fried mushrooms into the simmering broth, covered the pot, and sat down at the outdoor table to write a letter.
"Dear Dr. Stasia,
How have you been? Please also pass my regards to Ms. Kelsey!
My last letter to you was in the spring, and now summer is nearly over. How quickly time passes, and yet my memories of you remain fixed in those difficult days in Pharos City.
I spent some time studying at the Tower of Spring and came to understand the current state of magical development. Since then, I have been reading almost exclusively from the ancient texts preserved in the library's rare collection. They are by far the most valuable things in that entire mage tower.
Those treasures have lain silent for years in a library that few people ever visit, which seems a great pity. I believe they deserve to fulfill their true worth. ”
"Two months ago, I came into possession of a rare musical score. It is the work of a genius, completely unlike the style of merfolk music, and I believe humans would love it. I think you would love it as well.
I regret that I cannot introduce you to the composer. She has left Viktori, and within the reach of the crown's authority she can only live in hiding, under an assumed name. The one piece of good news is that this score has been performed by Linnea, and is now carefully preserved.
I had intended to record it onto a recording conch and send it to you with this letter. But I did not — for it connects to something else, and that something else is what prompted me to write to you.
I have met a friend of yours.
You have recently written a letter to someone in Viktori, haven't you? Her name is Dilys. She seems like a steady and composed young woman. Perhaps you are both working on something together; I feel it must be something good.
She wished to buy a recording conch here to send to you. I simply gave her the one I had been keeping for myself. I think it won't be long before you receive her letter and her gift.
Enclosed with this letter is a complete copy of the musical score.
You will love it. That conch will carry the sea breeze of Irttat. It will carry a precious friendship and a stirring piece of music across the distance to you."
"Very soon, the Tower of Spring will have nothing more to offer me. In the not-too-distant future, perhaps I will travel north together with my friends. If the chance arises, I look forward to seeing you again.
I wish you well, Dr. Stasia. Please also extend my warm regards to Ms. Kelsey on my behalf."
The pot of chicken-and-mushroom soup had come to a rolling boil. Lucita set down her pen, folded the letter, fetched an envelope from the study, and sealed it with wax using her badge ring.
Once everything was neatly put in order, she ladled out a spoonful of soup to taste for seasoning before pouring the broth into a covered tureen.
They had been eating rice fairly often lately, though the limited cultivation area, combined with the soil depletion caused by accelerated growth, meant it was still a rare luxury.
Lucita picked a handful of flat-leaf parsley and deep-green coriander from the plants growing at the front of the courtyard. She fished a handful of pickled freshwater black shrimp from a ceramic jar and stir-fried everything together into a fragrant seafood fried rice, which served as the household's main course for the evening.
The lingering heat of late summer dulled the appetite. Something light and soupy felt most comforting.
It was the season when chilled melons ripened and fell from the vines.None of them were fragile humans burdened with concerns about moderation. Several large slices were cut from the melon resting in the frost-box, and a silver spoon was pressed into each person's share. Coldness seemed almost visible, steadily rising from the deep red flesh.
After dinner, the three of them each cradled a slice of chilled melon and sprawled across the porch in loose clusters, listening as Violet enthusiastically recounted the latest serialized story she had been reading.
At this time, most serials still concluded with happy endings. Violet described how "the primordial mermaid deity, covered in spines, with a mouth full of fangs," granted the heroine's wishes, and how the heroine was subsequently consumed by greed.
Linnea, an actual mermaid sitting right there, laughed so hard she nearly rolled off the porch steps, sweet melon juice smeared across her face.
Summer was coming to an end.
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