It was my turn for the third watch this time, and since I’m not a monster I let the sun come all the way out before I hollered.
“Drop your cocks and grab your socks. Wakey wakey eggs and bakey.”
I didn’t get applause like Allison garnered yesterday. Instead I got to hear John bitch that I shouldn’t promise eggs I didn’t have, and most of the folks complained their bacon was under done. If bacon turns black you’ve basically ruined it, which I’m fairly certain is a mortal sin. I served it up still a little chewy just the way I liked it, and everyone but Hunter took it back to the fire to crisp up a little. I looked over at Hunter as I shoved another piece in my mouth.
“They just don’t appreciate the finer things in life, do they?”
Hunter shook his head and looked at me like I was helpless.
“Jeri took mine back to finish cooking while she did hers. Your’s were half raw, Jack.”
“Trichinosis can go fuck itself, this is a brand new world.”
He broke eye contact and quit talking to me at that point. I guess everybody really was a critic. The rest of the group came back and settled in what I’d come to think of as our spots around the fire. It struck me that we were all creatures of habit. If I’d sat on that stump instead of this one this morning, I’d have probably started an argument even though none of these seats really belonged to anyone. Debbie broke through those thoughts when she called for everyone’s attention and started our morning meeting.
“22 days left until whatever happens next for those of you not keeping track on your own. We put in the shower and a smokehouse, and we’ve got 5 more days to build infrastructure and amass trade goods before we head back. We’ve gotten some nice hides, but except for the bear nothing really worth the trip. We need to step up our game on the trade goods if we expect to turn a profit on this trip. If this is just an adventure for the XP we can make that work, but if it’s a trading venture too. . .” She trailed off her speech and shrugged at us.
John cleared his throat and raised his hand like he was still a school kid. Debbie didn’t call on him so much as hit him with an incredulous look for raising his hand, and he cleared his throat again before speaking, clearly nervous at addressing the group.
“Jack and I cut a deal to farm. Pretty good land around here and with the bag of holding cargo thing in the canoe, transport won’t be a problem. It won’t be in 5 days but I think long term we could export food to the village if the company wants to go in with us.”
Hunter snorted and voiced the objection I had been considering. “Dude, you don’t think they’re gonna build their own farm in the village? Why trade with us?”
John’s nervousness seemed to fade away as he stared Hunter down. “You think I’m some kind of idiot, boy? I know they’ll have farms, but what they ain’t got is farmers. I’m a professional. I guarantee I can outproduce some moron with a packet of seed in his hands and hope in his heart. Besides that, you ever heard of a communist government able to feed its own people reliably? Communal fields, so nobody really busts their ass, plus top down seed distro means its vulnerable to a blight or weather variation taking the whole thing.” He shook his head like he was surprised humanity would sink to such depths. “That ain’t what I’m talking about. I’m planning on running test fields, a couple dozen smaller patches that’ll produce enough to feed us and sell the extra, but planting a variety until we got this place figured out weather and soil chemistry wise. Farming is a long game, and having somebody who knows what’s what run it could give us enough of a leg up they’d be chasing us for years. It’d be a while before it paid off, but we could do it if you guys want.”
Debbie looked impressed by his speech, I know I was. Not so much the content as the passion with which he’d delivered it. Up till now John had seemed pretty easy come, easy go. She looked around at the rest of us, trying to gauge our reactions. I guess there wasn’t a clear consensus because she asked a couple follow up questions.
“So are you looking for the company to invest XP or manpower, and what kind of shares?”
“Well technically I guess I already sold an interest to Jack so I ought to feel him out about details.”
“You ain’t feeling nothing around here, farm boy. That’s what sheep are for. I’m willing to keep our deal as a percentage of your proceeds, not of the gross. Any deal you cut with the company I’ll make out on as a member of the company.”
Debbie objected. “You wanna double dip on the farm like that?”
“I want a return on my investment as a private citizen based on the deal that I made with John. I also want the return any other member of the company will get if we make a profit.”
John tapped his temple with a raised hand in a quick almost salute to acknowledge my point. “I’m fine with Jack’s terms, Debbie. For the company, I’m gonna want XP and manpower. I’ll definitely need all hands on harvest, and when we transport. I’ll also need to work full time on it, instead of splitting my half days like the rest of the company. XP is iffy.” His eyes shot over to me. “I’ve got a source of funding for equipment, but I’m not sure how deep the pockets are. I might hit up the company funds for a loan once we make it back to the store.”
“That sounds surprisingly reasonable, John. Especially since you’re talking about a loan and not a donation. What kind of consideration could the company expect from the deal? I’m thinking half.”
“Well hell, if the entire company are gonna work on the farm full time, I’d imagine half would be about fair. I’m just looking for transport, and help on harvest and other special occasions. How about 5%?”
Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.
The rhetoric got worse from there, and Debbie and John seemed to forget about the rest of us as they argued terms. Even the rates on the hypothetical loan that might not ever exist got dragged in and bandied about, but eventually they agreed on a number. Debbie had us all vote on 15% and it passed without any holdouts. I thought it was kind of funny to watch John vote on whether or not to enter into a contract with himself but I didn’t bitch about it. It was kind of nice to live in a world with zero regulation. As soon as the farm bill passed, I decided it was time to pitch my ceramics idea.
“I think I got a way for us to come up with some clay. Anybody ever messed with a kiln before?”
Both Allison and Debbie said they had. When they compared their experience, Allison had made an ashtray for her mom in high school, while Debbie had taken a couple ceramics courses as an adult through the extension office.
“So if we got clay, and built a kiln that we had a really hard time controlling the temperature of, you think you could produce stuff that’d turn a profit back in the village?”
“I think it’s well worth the effort to try. What do you need to test this?”
“I’ll put some clay together this morning, if someone else could figure out a kiln substitute?”
Hunter called out, “I got that.” and I nodded at him. I wasn’t sure if he’d be able to come up with something that would work, but he sounded pretty confident. John went off to work on his farm, as it was officially company business now, while Allison took Steve out to show him the trap line. Debbie and Jeri got the buck saw and went out to harvest lumber. I felt a twinge as I saw the girls walk out to cut firewood, but suppressed it. We were all supposed to be equal out here, so they’d take a turn on the shitty chores too. I suppressed my inner paladin and watched them walk away before I took my pail over to the falls to pick up some water.
After I had a full bucket, I wandered back over to a likely looking spot and dug a hole. If I remembered right, clay settled over time so I went down past the topsoil, then scooped up a shovel’s worth and dumped it in my bucket. I let it soak while I trimmed myself a stir stick from a handy branch, and then did my best to break up the clods of earth in the pail When it was as dissolved as I felt like I was going to be able to get it, I tossed the stick and took off my shirt. I didn’t like this part, but I had another shirt back in the keep, and it’s not like it wouldn’t wash out. I hadn’t been able to think of anything else to use as a filter in the meantime. I tied the sleeves together closing off the neck of the shirt, and hooked the tail over a branch making a sort of cloth bucket. Setting that up seemed like it would have taken long enough for the rock and sand to settle out of my mix. I tipped my pail and slowly drained the bucket into my shirt, careful to leave the last bit in it just in case. When I was done, water ran from the shirt at a fairly steady pace. I had a feeling I’d be able to start another shovel full soon.
The water coming out looked a lot cleaner than the water that had gone in. Not I wanna drink it clean, but clean enough I was pretty sure the shirt was collecting the clay. By the time I’d put two more buckets through, the shirt was dripping but it wasn’t pouring anymore. I guess enough clay had built up on the fabric to slow the draining so I quit messing with it to give it time to drain. I pulled the shirt off the limb and carried it back up towards the keep, ready to show off a batch of freshly minted clay.
When I got there, I expected to see Hunter busting his ass trying to make a kiln out of sticks and imagination, but he was kicked back with Debbie showing her how to sharpen the blades of the saw.
“I’ve got clay. You guys gonna start on a kiln or what?”
“You might think that if you hadn’t spent 2 years of college with a roommate addicted to the discovery channel. I already built a traditional kiln of the topogigo tribe from Brazil.”
“What tribe was that, Hunter?”
“Dude, I don’t remember the name of the tribe. I was making that shit up. But I remember they dig a hole and put in their clay pots or whatever, then cover them back up and light a big fire on top. How much dirt goes on top and how big the fire is depend on what they’re making, but I figure we can fool around with it until it’s right.”
“Did you at least already dig the hole?”
Debbie tossed a dirt clod at me, “Hey, nobody is going to slack off with the boss right here.”
“Yeah, she’s a real slave driver.”
Hunter caught a dirt clod for that too, and I shook my head at her antics. I unfolded my shirt and gathered the rather slimy material left on the inside. Three buckets worth had left me with a grayish brown lump about the size of a softball. I knew I could run a perc test like you did before you installed a septic system. Just dig some pilot holes, fill with water and time them when they drain. The longer the drain time the higher the clay content, and it would be worth the effort to find the best source, but for the kiln test what I had picked at random would do. I gouged out a finger’s worth of the ball, and tossed the rest to Debbie.
“You wanna make something with that? Maybe a couple different things so we can compare depths.”
She was rolling the clay around in her hands, focused on squishing it and getting the feel just right I guess, but Hunter spoke.
“That’s not very much clay, man.”
“That’s not very much kiln, man. This is just a test remember? We can go into full production mode and really crank some stuff out if it works.”
I used my little scrap of clay to make two different arrowheads, a long skinny one I thought of as armor piercing, and then a short wide one like those guillotine arrows you’d use on turkeys. I called that one a bleeder in my head. The tiny bit of clay I had left over I couldn’t think of anything useful for so I rolled it into a cylinder just to see if it fired. In the meantime, Debbie had demonstrated that she was way better at this kind of stuff than I was.
She separated her lump of clay into two balls. One of them she rolled out into a long thin snake, the same way kids have played with playdoh since forever. Then she coiled the thin ropey piece back on itself, going around in circles until it had formed a bowl, with a slight hump at the very end leaving a gap in part of the top coil. She left the outside ridged, but poured water in her hand and smoothed the coils together on the inside, and held up her finished product.
“Kind of crude, but I made an oil lamp. Fill the bowl with rendered fat or vegetable oil or something, slide a wick through the side here and light the part outside the bowl. I’ve been thinking of how dark it gets in the keep at night, and torches are such a pain in the ass.”
I nodded in appreciation. “That’s pretty cool, Debbie.”
Hunter joined in. “What are you planning on the rest of it?”
“I’ve been thinking since Jack brought up the clay stuff this morning. The oil lamp was my big idea, but I’ve got a couple other things I want to try out. Go ahead and bury this stuff while I make the rest.”
Hunter grumbled but I handed him my stuff too when he got up to bury hers. I wanted to see what she was making. It turned out she was making quite a bit. She split the clay into smaller pieces and cranked out items one by one. There was another of those snakes that turned into a ring, but she wrapped a chunk of that in grass before deforming it into the flat side of a D, and putting a finger around the grass. She’d made a clay belt buckle once the clay was removed, and while I admired the ingenuity, I doubted it would be sturdy enough for use. Using similar methods she made a crude clay hinge, a folding knife I thought was cool but impractical, and a series of tiny cups she later told me were thimbles. We added everything to Hunter’s hole in the ground kiln, and I even took the time to draw a little map with relative depths so we could compare at the end. Hunter piled up kindling on the loose dirt that covered the pottery, and I lit the fire with my cigarette lighter while he went for more firewood.
When we had a substantial fire going, I looked over at Hunter. “How long do they let it cook for?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s gotta dry it out and then cure, so I’m guessing for a while. The show was only like an hour long with commercials, they cut away and came back a bunch.”
“So basically you’ve got no clue and have been pretty much wasting my time all morning.”
“Okay, everybody. This is a field test, not life or death. I’ll drop by every once and a while to keep the fire going, you two guys see if you can go find something productive to do, huh?”
Hunter took his buck saw down towards the woodline, and I headed in the opposite direction to try and find John.