Ch 37: Errands

I don’t envy the men that were in charge of organizing the imperial calendar. Having to balance the number of days and holidays between thirteen months named after those that could ruin your life and kill your family is a rough assignment.

• High Minister Proust

Solomon looked at the five large pots of soil he’d gathered and placed in his lab. It had been exhausting to move each of them inside, especially while he was hiding his actions from the staff. He’d taken the pots from where Poth had gathered several dozen from throughout the manor’s interior. They’d once contained fresh flowers all throughout it, but had never been replaced. Filling them with soil hadn’t been too difficult as much of the soil had been churned when the garden was cleared. Moving the pots after they’d been filled with soil though, had tested the limits of his strength. He was breathing heavily and coated in a film of dirt by the time he was done that made him wish to immediately have a bath.

Gathering the remaining materials hadn’t been too difficult. There were fresh eggs and milk in the kitchens and they were both stored in the larder on stone shelves, and they’d had pumpkin soup only a few days prior giving him access to fresh gourds. As for clay, Solomon was able to find a large bucket full of it among his uncle’s alchemy ingredients at the desk. He assumed it had been used in the construction of Victor’s own homonculi.

After he had all of the materials gathered, he began. He took a bowl and began working the half-pound of clay within it, rolling and unrolling it until it became pliable. He then poured the drachm of blood into it, and then carefully pushed mana into the blood and clay as he mixed it. His mana was dead calm as he did so, like it was when he’d done the blood control spell. The book was unclear about how much mana to infuse, so he kept it conservative. Based on his observations and what he’d seen at the Arcana he had more mana than most and didn’t want to overdo it. Once he was done he mixed the milk and egg, then formed the clay in a rough approximation of a man. He placed it gently into one of the hollowed out pumpkins and then poured the egg and milk mix into it. He then sealed it and placed it gently into one of the pots, covering it with dirt.

Once he was done gently patting the dirt on top of it flat he went back to the clay and began the process again. When he was done he looked at the five pots with satisfaction. Even if he had failed one or two, he should still have something to work with.

He did a mental check of the time and found that he should have just enough time to clean up and get a few hours of sleep. He was tempted to move on to the second phase of creating the Paternal Protection circle, but he would have a week until his creations were complete anyway.

His theory was that he could use the golems as the subjects of the paternal protection. They shared the same blood as him after all, and that seemed to be the primary factor in the workings of the other spell. If he failed, it would at the very least be a learning experience, but if he succeeded then he would have a way of keeping himself protected when he confronted the Lord of the Black Wood.

He sighed and moved to the exit to the hidden chamber. Between the dirt, clay, and blood he needed to bring in a pot of water and a few towels so that he could clean himself. A task for later.

He pressed on the rune that allowed him to exit and whispered a thank you to the suit of armor as he passed it. He then crept through the halls until he reached his room. A bath wasn’t an option, but he did have a basin of water and a towel kept in his chamber at all times. He cleaned himself as thoroughly as he could and then lay in bed. His wounded side hurt, the cut on where he’d drawn blood pulsed, and his arms and legs ached from his exertions both that night and just a day ago when he’d saved the trapper. In spite of all those discomforts though, he quickly fell asleep, his exhaustion outweighing them.

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He awoke the next morning feeling roughly the same degree of physically miserable as he had the previous. He got up and sat at his desk, hearing Melissa’s customary knock at the door as he settled .

“Come in,” he said, idly looking at the old paper he’d left at his desk.

She entered holding an orange bundle of fur.

Solomon looked at her with a raised eyebrow.

“It’s a gift from Colm Brightly, the trapper. One of the temporary workers brought it here on his behalf. It’s a thank you for getting him out of the wood.”

Solomon nodded and accepted the fur. It was complete and well preserved. He guessed it was the same fox he’d brought out of the trap. As it was complete he could likely wear it as a stole in winter.

“I’ll have to thank him when I see him again,” he gently placed the fox on his desk. “Could you bring me fresh water for my basin as well as soap and a towel? And have Claire make me more of that liver with my breakfast if she could. I’ve developed a taste for it.” He was lying, but if he was going to be drawing more blood he wanted to ensure he was as healthy and hale as he could be.

He took his time cleaning himself and eating his breakfast before opting for one of his purple suits along with his uncle’s green vest. He noticed it had a number of small useful pockets in it already, and he slid his blood vials into them carefully. Clean and in fresh clothes he felt much more ready to tackle the day. He gave a few nods to his servants and the additional laborers he’d hired as he walked out to his carriage.