"Greatness often begins with a stubborn child and a bad idea."
— Johanna Pepys, offhand comment to a friend (later recorded in a biography)
*Richard POV*
That night, I asked Johanna for some paper and a stick of charcoal (she stubbornly refused to give me ink to write with, muttering something about "saving the good stuff for when we really need it"), and frantically got to work in my room. I scribbled down any and all ideas which came to me.
- A public hand-washing station at the market to reduce disease spread
- A makeshift printing press to speed up merchants' work
- A semaphore system to communicate through larger distances
Those were the big three I landed on. Now, I just had to critique the ideas until only one idea remained.
Regarding the hand-washing station, I don't think I've seen any disease whilst around here. Yes, things seemed unsanitary, but I haven't heard of anyone getting sick. And, even then, even if they were getting sick, who's going to listen to a four-year-old explain germ theory to them, and of the few who listen, who's going to believe me? They already had soaps and perfumes, but mum said that's to keep bad odours away - maybe they believe in miasma here then.
The same could apply to a semaphore system - I'll get dismissed as someone who knows nothing (which is true, but, still, ouch) or people will just prefer to shout across the hills, since they carry sound far enough anyway, and you don't have to stay on standby watching someone do semaphore all day. Hmm, I'll scratch this idea, and maybe come back to it once I'm a bit older and considered more reputable.
A printing press sounds complicated, especially since I only have a vague notion of how they work, but it's the only idea that would give solid, concrete results. The world already mass produces paper, but it doesn't make posters or flyers! Plus, it sounds innovative enough to get me one of those clan sponsors. Keep your eyes on the prize and all that.
I flipped over the paper, and started sketching furiously.
What is printing, really? You press something shaped like letters onto paper. That's it. It doesn't have to be movable type - that's fancy and way too complicated. Besides, a giant contraption could be moved by body cultivators if needed.
I need something that has letters on it backwards. Then I cover it in ink. Then press paper on top Sounds simple enough.
Step one: make a page with raised letters. There are two ways of going about this: either I carve letters onto a wooden board, making sure they're backwards - that's going to be a nightmare, and I'd have to experiment with simpler letters first to see if the concept works - or I could glue little letter pieces onto a board, so they'd print in the right direction when stamped onto the paper. Only issue there is: where would I get those letter pieces from? It also sounds rather finicky to do and I just know I'd mess that up somehow. I suppose carving it is.
I'd need to enlist some muscle for that. Theo's dad is a blacksmith, isn't he? I wonder if I could beg him enough to help out. Maybe even have Theo do some puppy eyes for me.
That's step one sorted.
Step two: make some ink. This world already has ink and it's not too expensive. My only problem is, it smudges rather easily. I scratch down an equation onto the page. *soot + oil = ink?* I'll have to test that one later.
Step three: have a way to apply the ink onto the letters. That could just be a stick with a bit of cloth at the end - like a dabber.
Step four: press the paper on top. And that's the first proper roadblock. I needed something that could squish the paper evenly onto the letters. Not with hands - that wouldn't be strong or steady enough, but I remember seeing those apple presses at the market. Those big wooden frames, where you crank down a block of wood to squeeze juice. Maybe I could copy that, but smaller. *apple press for inking... ask Theo*
And the final step, is just peeling off the paper and looking at the finished product.
I look at the scribbles of a blueprint I had sketched up: a boxy wooden frame, a carved board full of lumpy letters, a piece of paper pressed on top. Ugly, clumsy, primitive.
But all I needed was a proof of concept. That could change everything.
All I need is wood, soot, oil, cloth, a bit of paper, some rope, a sharp knife, and a couple other things. Oh dear, that sounds like a lot.
***
The sun had just began yawning through the sky, when I woke up and barged into the living room. Johanna was still in her room, and I could peek through the open door to see her bundled up, asleep, a book against her chest. Only Gertherd was up, sitting on the front step of the house, sharpening his sword with long, deliberate strokes. His brow furrowed in focus.
Perfect.
I rubbed my eyes, trying to look extra innocent.
"Morning, dad."
He looked up, clearly surprised by me. "You're awake early."
"Couldn't sleep," I said, plopping down beside him. "Hey, I wanted to ask you something."
He raised an eyebrow. "What have you broken now?"
"No, no I haven't broken anything! What do you take me for?" I say, defending my honour from such accusations. "This is important... kind of. Do you know where I could get some stuff?"
He paused. "Stuff?"
"Wooden boards, charcoal, maybe some cloth and rope?"
His eyes narrowed slightly, scrutinising every facial movement I had. "What in the world do you need all that for?"
I grinned, and gave him a wink far too big for my small face. "Secret."
There was a long silence. Shit, is he onto me? No, at most he'll just think I'm a bit older mentally than my peers. Does he think I'll hurt myself?
"Are you building a fort?"
Thank god, he thinks I'm doing regular child stuff. Though, I suppose building and crafting is something we all did at primary school.
"No."
"A trap?"
"Definitely not."
"Something that explodes?"
"What? No!" I shook my head theatrically, joking around with him.
"Alright, but if the Mayor's house explodes, I had nothing to do with it."
"So... is that a yes?"
"I don't have much lying around, Rich. I'm a guard, not a carpenter. But the garrison burns a lot of firewood. You might find some scraps in the refuse pile. Charcoal, too. Cloth... maybe ask your mother to check the laundry shed. Rope, you'll need to sweet-talk someone else for that. Maybe try Theo's family - his father's a blacksmith, so he ought to have all sorts of random things in his toolshed."
"Thanks, Dad!" I chirped, already halfway to the door.
He called after me. "I expect to be invited to this secret unveiling, you know!"
***
Turns out, being four-years-old is a real pain. Just walking over to the garrison was enough to drain most of my stamina, and I felt exhausted just looking at the woodpile behind it. The planks were longer than I was tall, and dragging it through the village made me feel like a bug carrying a tree branch. A very determined bug.
I gave up halfway up the slope and sat down, breathing hard. At this rate, I'd need help.
And luckily, I knew just who to ask.
*Theo POV*
I was still half-dazed when mother shook me awake.
"Theo! You'll never guess who came knocking on our door!" she cried.
I blinked absentmindedly. Whoever it was, they were interrupting my precious sleep. Daycare was closed for the day - apparently Teach had "a little too much celebration last night", whatever that means - and I planned to stay in bed until Uncle Phil shows up for some light training.
"It's Theo," she says.
Well, that changes things.
When I got to the front door, I was greeted by a strange sight. The frail-looking Richard was sweating and breathing heavily, and next to him, a long and damp plank of wood with clumps of soil at its end, likely from the long track lines imprinted on the path leading up to home. He looked like he'd just discovered fire and couldn't wait to set the world ablaze with it. For a moment, I wanted to ask him about the book. But... maybe not today. He definitely has something planned.
"Rich?! What... are you doing?"
"Theo, Theo! Let's make something together," he blurts out, blurring the lines between genius and madman. "I want to surprise my parents, so can we work on it together at your house?"
"Why, of course you may, Rich!" chimed in a voice from above. He shouldn't have mentioned making something in front of mother - she won't be able to stop herself from joining in. I remember once I asked her for a blank canvas and some paint, but the painting on the wall only contains a couple strokes from me, and an uncountable number from her... She'll be way too hands on for this!
***
The three of us sat on the wooden bench in our backyard, mother and I waiting for Richard to catch his breath.
"So," he heaved, "we're going to build something top secret. Completely classified. Top secret. And if either of you two lea-"
"Quit leading us around and just say what we're making!" I shouted at him, too impatient to deal with his antics.
"Settle down, Theo. Don't be rude to our guest."
"Sorry," I grumphed.
"Right, so we're going to start making a... book maker! A machine, sort of like those apple presses in the market, but instead of getting juice, you get a book."
Of course it's about books. I don't understand how that's meant to work - you can squeeze an apple because there's juice inside, but you can't squeeze paper because there's no writing inside there.
"Isn't that some sort of formation?" I ask.
"That's right. You two probably don't know this, but librarians in most clans will manipulate fire Qi to control how much paper they're burning in order to write down the names of people borrowing books," added on mother.
"Well, this is different. It's a machine that makes words appear over and over without writing them all by hand. Like how you can cover your hands in paint, slap it on paper, and your hand will end up on the paper. But instead of hands, we're going to cover some letters and have it write lines for us!"
He may have said it in a tone that makes it sound easy, but it sounded extremely complicated. How were we meant to change what words were being said? And how do you use the same letter multiple times? I didn't want to spoil the party, though, and, besides, Rich is smart enough to fix those problems when they show up. He might have even already thought about this all - he looked like he had a plan, after all.
"I was up all night drawing out how to design this contraption. Eli- ahem Aunt Elisabeth, can you have a look over this and tell me if you think it'll work? My dad said to get the materials from the garrison and to ask around for anything else we might need."
Rich handed over a crumpled up piece of paper to mother, who narrowed her eyes and inspected each word and drawing on there. Her eyes widened, but only for a moment, before she smiled and agreed to help work on the machine.
"Rich, this will take at least a couple days to make, but do make yourself at home here. It's a really interesting idea, and I think it might just work."
It was great to see Rich so enthusiastic about something, especially after the incident with his spirit roots. He was dead set on building this machine and he had life all over his face once again. Deep down, to me, it looked like a last-ditch effort, like some sort of struggle, but at least he has the drive for something like that. And if he came straight over to meet me to discuss it and work on it together, then he must really trust me. That makes me really happy.
One day, I know the roles will be flipped. He's smart, and I'm about average. He came to us for help because I'm stronger, and because I'm a close friend, and, soon, one day, I'll come to him for advice - for when I need someone smart to talk to rather than someone strong to help me.
For the rest of the day, I was tasked with designing a poster or banner that the machine would be able to make hundreds of copies of. I lay on the floor of the living room, completely engrossed in drawing and attempting to write with my stick of charcoal, ignoring the background noise of Rich convincing father to help us out as well.
*knock knock*
*Johanna POV*
Today was a relaxing day spent doing odd jobs around the house. It's taboo to go to work the day after The Day of Wits, so I just tidied up the house, watered some plants, and read a romance novel to pass the time.
Gert had notified me earlier that Rich would be going out to play with Theo - something about building a fort together. He said to lean into the kid's fantasy and to pretend to not know what he's been up to all day. It's getting dark, and he still hasn't come back home, which is rather worrying, but he's a sensible boy, so I'm sure he's not in the forest anymore.
He's probably at Elisabeth's house. I'm glad our sons could become such close friends so quickly. Their family is one of the only other family of cultivators around, though I can't see their realms, so I'm sure both are above the realm of Body Cultivation. But it's good to have their influence around them - and it's great that he hadn't befriended any of the naughtier children. I fear for the day our smart little Rich decides to pull a prank on us...
Elisabeth's family doesn't live too far away from us, just over the hill and by that obscenely tall tree. Why they don't cut it down is beyond me. Their place is large enough to get lost in, so the tree makes for a good landmark when leaving. Reluctantly, I get off my comfortable chair, and walk over to Elisabeth's to pick up my son.
I knock on the door and am greeted by her entire family, the little one reluctant to say goodbye to my son. I can see marks of charcoal over both their faces and a bandage over Rich's finger, probably covering a splinter or slight cut he got from building his fort. I can't expose him, so I'll wait for the grand reveal.
"Get into trouble?" I ask Rich.
"Nope," he responds, with suspicious nonchalance. Silly kid can't make eye contact with me. How precious.
I glance towards Elisabeth's family, giving them a slight bow of gratitude. "Thank you for entertaining him. I hope he hasn't been a nuisance to you all."
On the way home, I don't push Rich to tell me anything and just watch him kick pebbles across the path. His mind is clearly elsewhere, and he keeps on muttering to himself about having little fingers - I guess he didn't realise how difficult it is to build a fort. He may be a clever child, but he's still a child, after all.