Day 11–12 — Stock and Steady
Morning came thin and cold. Frost lay on the rope rails and on the lip of the gutter stones. South Mills Lane breathed a soft steam from the flue. The hidden room felt warm but not close. It smelled of clean clay, faint ash, and a little warm fat. The brick ring held the iron kettle like a heavy heart that beat slow and even. The three barrels stood like patient beasts: A for leaching, B for settling, C for in use. The chalk arrows above them made a loop. The rule board waited by the door, clear and simple. The ledger sat on its small shelf with the lip that kept it safe.
Ryan came first, then Peter, then Sariel, then Murdock and Jory. They did not say big words. They said the small words that start work.
"Morning," Peter said. "Eye‑wash is fresh. I changed it. Vinegar is full."
"Good," Ryan said.
Sariel lifted the ledger. "Today we build stock," she said. "We do not rush. We do not lower our rules to make more jars. We keep strength steady. We post rules for users. We plan space for storage. We set a two‑person sign‑off. We set the anti‑forgery marks. We teach how to check."
"Outline," Murdock said, in his short, rough way. He leaned on the doorframe and watched the flue. He always watched the flue.
Ryan put three simple ladles on the bench. Each had the same bowl and a notch on the handle. They were the "parts," the way to talk with hands when there was no scale.
"Ten parts warm clean fat," he said. He tapped the first ladle. "Three parts strong KOH liquor." He tapped the second. "Hold back two parts hot water. Add one if we need it." He tapped the third. "Then one ladle of warm fat at the end for HAND jars. That is our small superfat. That makes the feel kinder."
Jory tapped the brick ring with the back of his trowel. A full sound came back. Not hollow. He nodded. "Ring holds," he said. "Lip under Barrel C is smooth. No sharp edge to cut sacks."
"Move the signs," Ryan said.
Peter took the placards down and put them back up, one step in the loop. "A to B. B to C. C to A," he said. His voice had a calm beat now. It made the room feel like a little drum.
They worked the loop. Hot water went over Barrel A. The first runnings went back over the ash. Then again. The smell was like a wet hearth. The egg went in. It sank slow, then lifted. The dome showed a coin width. Sariel drew a circle in the egg log and wrote: "Coin dome." She pressed the copper tag with the twin notch and the hour mark. She punched the same mark into the ledger margin. She liked marks that match.
Barrel B's haze was ready to settle. Barrel C gave clear lye for today's kettle. Ryan slaked lime. The hiss rose. He stirred slow, said "Back," and Peter stepped back one pace without drama. The milky lime sat down. They decanted a cleaner, stronger KOH liquor through linen into a jar. They set an egg again. The dome was a hair high. Ryan added a small ladle of hot water. Egg again. Dome now coin size. Right. Enough bite, not too much.
The pre‑render station sang a small song of steady work. Tallow cubes warmed in a water bath. Scum lifted and was skimmed. Clean fat ran through the coarse cloth into clean buckets and shone pale. A board and stones pressed it to harden later into a cake. Sariel made a mark in the fat column: "Cake C‑11, clean, no stink, from butcher's boy with red scarf."
"Do not forget the cloth change," Ryan said.
"I washed the first cloth," Peter said. "I hung it to dry. We always have two. One clean, one drying."
"Good," Ryan said. "You remember the rule: you need two of anything that must be clean at all times."
They set Kettle 6 with the parts they knew. Clean warm fat in. Low heat. Fan on. Clay lid with the small vent a thumb wide. Baffle set heat under the center. Ryan turned the small sand glass as he added the first ladle of lye and began to stir. He kept the paddle low in the liquid. He pulled slow eights. He watched the gloss. He watched the ribbon fall. When the sand ran down, he turned it again. When the paddle grew more pull, he nodded and said, "Turn two." Then he added the last ladle of lye. "Turn three." He watched. Trace came when the ribbon line held clear for a moment.
"Trace," he said. "Three turns. Write it."
Sariel drew three small glass icons next to the entry: K6. She wrote, "Trace on third turn. Parts ten‑to‑three. Held one water. Used one water."
Ryan stirred a little longer. He did not stop the moment trace appeared. He liked trace to be true and steady. He lowered the fire one finger. He told Peter to turn the fan one notch slower. Even heat. Even air. Calm.
He added the one ladle of warm fat at the end for HAND jars, stirred it in slow, and then he and Peter ladled the thick paste into glazed jars while it was warm. Sariel cut paper collars and marked them. Two diagonal cuts meant HAND. One cut meant BENCH. She pressed the day's hidden knurl into the inside fold, a tiny pinwheel pattern. She wrote the daily pattern on the slate near the door. She kept the pattern simple so a buyer could learn it fast. She kept it hidden in the fold so a forger would miss it. She asked the porter to witness. He did.
"I have seen it," the porter said. He signed the ledger margin. "Hour marked."
They set the jars on a rack that Jory had built. He had put a lip on each shelf so a jar could not walk off by accident if a boy bumped it. He had set the rack away from the sun line from the small window so the jars would rest in shade. He had cut small slots for air to pass. He said, "Jars breathe a little while they sit. Let them."
By noon they had one kettle jarred. In the afternoon they set Kettle 7 and brought it to trace in the same three turns. The line felt like a song they could hum without thinking about the next note. That did not make it dull. It made it kind.
"That is two kettles to stock today," Sariel said. "We can hold a third if the team is still sharp. We do not do a third if hands show dullness."
"We stop at two," Ryan said. "We are not a show horse. We are a line. We care about tomorrow more than speed today."
They cleaned tools and hung them. They greased the fan shaft. They wiped the lip under Barrel C. They swept the floor and kept water near the sump. They checked the eye‑wash and the vinegar and marked yes and full.
Sariel and Ryan took a moment to lay out space rules for jars. She wrote a simple board:
Store jars on rack, not on floor.
Keep out of sun.
First in, first out.
Rest HAND jars 24 hours before hand use.
BENCH jars can be used at once for tools.
Replace any weak cork.
If collar is torn, check inner fold knurl before use.
Always read the label: HAND or BENCH.
Not for children.
She wrote the last line larger than the rest. She had seen a mother pass the lane with a small child. She wanted no mistakes.
"Two‑person sign‑off starts today," Sariel said. "Packer and witness both mark the inside of the collar. Graphite mark, small, not showy. 'S' for Sariel. 'P' for Peter. 'R' for Ryan. 'M' for Murdock. 'J' for Jory when he helps. The porter will sign the ledger."
Ryan nodded. "We will also do a second check when jars leave the room," he said. "We will check the knurl pattern in the fold and the collar cuts. We will match the batch and hour mark to the ledger. We will stop any jar that does not match."
Peter raised a hand. "I can be witness for Sariel when she packs," he said. "I can read the slate and the ledger and check the fold."
"You can," Ryan said. "You will take the job serious."
"I will," Peter said.
They ran the "leave the room" check as a small drill at the end of Day 11. Sariel packed a HAND jar. Peter checked the collar cuts, the hidden knurl, the batch code, and the hour mark. He signed with his letter on the inside fold. He read the board on the wall that showed the day's knurl pattern. He said out loud, "Pattern matches. Cuts match. Batch matches. Hour matches. Signed Sariel and Peter."
"Good," Ryan said. "We keep this."
Day 12 came with a thin fog and a slow wind. The cold felt softer than the day before. The line turned again. Move the signs. Leach. Settle. In use. Egg test. Lime hiss. Decant. Parts. Sand glass. Trace in three turns. Superfat one ladle for HAND. Collars, cuts, hidden knurl. Rack. Rest. Two‑person sign‑off.
By midday they had six HAND jars and nine BENCH jars on the rack, not counting the jars out at the rope‑walk and at the dyers. They had space for more. They did not try to fill it all at once.
"We keep a small stock, not a mountain," Ryan said. "We learn each day. We build slow."
"Slow saves lives," Murdock said. "And my sleep."
Sariel began a simple stock page. She drew boxes. She kept words short.
HAND: 6 jars (rested 24h by morning).
BENCH: 9 jars (use ready).
Out on trial: rope‑walk 2 HAND, 2 BENCH. dyers 2 HAND, 2 BENCH.
Feedback slips: 3 (rope‑walk: less sting but soft spot still bites a bit; dyers: hand less dry; one girl rubbed too hard).
She pinned a small "user rule" sheet to the outside of the door so passers‑by could read what the people inside the room had learned.
Wash hands — HAND soap:
Wet with warm water.
Take small scoop.
Rub soft circles. Do not rub hard.
Rinse with clean water.
Dry with clean cloth.
If sting, rinse again. Dab vinegar on skin. Rinse with water again.
Not for children.
Clean tools — BENCH soap:
Wet the tool or bench.
Scoop small amount.
Brush and rub.
Rinse and dry.
"Make the letters large," Murdock said. "Some men read with old eyes."
Sariel made them large.
Near evening on Day 12, the rope‑walk foreman came. The younger man with the red wrists came too. They stood at the door in their rough coats. They held out their hands. The skin looked calmer.
"It is better," the young man said. "The soft part near here," he tapped his wrist by the pulse, "still feels a little bite. But I can work and the skin is not angry all day."
"Thank you," Ryan said. "We have a test jar with one and a half ladles superfat. Three cuts on the collar and 'TEST' written. Use a little less. Use soft circles. Tell us what you feel."
The foreman nodded. He looked up at the rule board on the door and read each line with his lips moving. He said, "Simple. Good." He put his finger on "Not for children" and nodded. He was a father. He knew that line matters.
When they left, Sariel wrote the hour and the names on the ledger. The porter signed the margin. Peter put a small wooden chip in the foreman's hand. "For honest talk," he said. The foreman smiled. It felt odd to him, and kind.
They closed Day 12 with one more kettle jarred and one more stock line in the ledger. Ryan wrote his small private line, the one that made him feel like the world had a frame he could trust:
Audit note: Choice Mandate — no call. Domain — not open. Today we used hands, rules, and time.
Day 13 — Sign‑off and Safeguards
Day 13 started with a softer cold and a faint sun. The lane was busy earlier. Men from the rope‑walk went by with coils on poles. Dyer girls laughed in the thin fog. A porter pushed a cart of grain to a baker. Frosthaven was alive. The hidden room breathed out a thin steam like a thin veil.
Inside, Ryan had set a new table near the door. It was not big. It was clean. It had a small lip so jars would not slide. It had a small drawer with twine, spare corks, a simple graphite stick wrapped in paper, a tiny iron stamp with Murdock's mark, and a hand‑press with a little knurl plate that could be taken out and swapped. The plate had today's pattern.
"We add two things today," Ryan said. "Two‑person sign‑off is now the rule. And the anti‑forgery checks are now clear in public and easy for any buyer."
Sariel wrote a board for sign‑off above the table:
Jar leaves the room only if:
Collar shows right cuts (HAND = 2, BENCH = 1).
Inner fold shows today's hidden knurl.
Batch code matches ledger.
Hour mark on copper tag matches ledger.
Packer signs inside collar (letter).
Witness signs inside collar (letter).
Porter signs ledger margin.
She put a second board on the wall for buyers:
How to check a jar:
Read the big word on collar: HAND or BENCH.
Look for cuts on collar.
Pinch the collar edge and open a little. Look inside fold. Find small pattern (knurl).
Check the pattern on our slate. It should match today's drawing.
If it does not match, bring it back. We replace it. We do not argue.
Murdock looked at the buyer board and gave a small grunt. "You put your throat out," he said. "If a thief copies you, you lose coin."
"If a thief lies, we lose more," Ryan said. "Trust is worth more coin than a jar."
Murdock tapped the doorframe. "Spoken like a man who has to sleep near my roof," he said. That was his way to say "I agree."
They ran the barrels and the kettle first, because fire safety comes before paper safety. Move the signs. Leach. Settle. In use. Egg, lime, decant. Parts. Sand glass. Trace in three. Superfat for HAND. Jar, collar, cuts, knurl. Then to the table for sign‑off.
Sariel packed one jar. She used neat hands. She pressed the knurl. She set the cork with a twist. She tied twine with a small cross. She set the jar on the table.
"Packer sign," she said. She opened the collar fold a little and wrote a small capital S in the fold with the graphite stick. Not big. Not messy.
"Witness," she said.
Peter opened the fold and wrote a small P next to the S. He read the board out loud and checked each point with his finger.
"Cuts match," he said. "Hidden knurl matches today's slate. Batch code C‑13. Hour mark two bells after first. Ledger margin shows the same. Porter signed."
"Jar leaves the room," Sariel said. She smiled a little. She liked simple gates that stop mistakes.
They did this again and again. They took turns. When Jory came in to bring more brick and check lips, he stood a moment and watched. He took the graphite stick and wrote a small J in a fold when he watched a jar leave. He nodded like a man whose stone found true.
Near noon a rope‑walk boy brought a jar back. He was nervous. He held the jar like it might break in his hands. He said, "The collar was cut right. But the inside pattern looked wrong when we checked on our board."
Sariel took the jar with calm hands. She did not scold the boy for being unsure. She said, "Let us look."
She pinched the collar and opened the inner fold. The hidden knurl was there, but the shape did not match the slate. It was yesterday's pattern, not today's. She looked at the batch code and the hour. It was a jar from the last kettle of yesterday, and someone had swapped the collar out in the market, or a mistake was made on the table late when hands were tired.
"It is our fault if it left the room this way," Sariel said. "We will fix it."
She checked the soap. The paste looked right. The smell was right. The cork was tight. The collar was the wrong inner pattern. That was enough to deny the jar for sale. She took a fresh collar, pressed today's knurl, cut it correctly, and signed with S on the fold. Peter signed with P. She wrote a clear line in the ledger: "Returned one HAND jar with yesterday's knurl pattern, same batch code. Re‑collared with correct pattern. Rope‑walk boy witness. No charge."
She handed the jar back to the boy and said, "Thank you for checking. Tell your foreman we will keep hands slow at the table when we are tired. And you did right to bring it back."
The boy nodded and his face broke into a smile like he had been allowed to be a man for a moment. He left, walking with better balance.
Murdock watched and said, "This is how you get a street to protect you."
Ryan said, "This is how you deserve it."
In the afternoon, Sariel and Ryan set up a "customer check corner" outside the room. It was a simple shelf. On it sat:
A small slate with today's knurl drawing.
A sample collar with cuts and the hidden knurl.
A small note: "Open the fold. Check the pattern. If you do not see the pattern, bring it back. We will replace it."
They showed two dyer women how to check. They taught with simple words. "Two cuts means HAND," Sariel said, and tapped the collar. "Open here," she said, and pinched the fold. "This little circle pattern inside is the sign. It must match this drawing. If it is wrong, tell us."
The women nodded. One said, "I will teach my sister." The other said, "I will teach my boys."
Late afternoon, a thin man with a bad hat tried to buy two jars with coin and asked too many questions about the pattern and who signs and when the porter leaves. Sariel's eyes went cool. She smiled like a stone.
"We do not sell two jars to men who ask those questions before they ask how to wash," she said. "If you want soap for your hands, come back with your foreman. If you want to learn how to forge my mark, go buy straw and try to sell it as bread somewhere else."
The man laughed like a man who had been caught out. He walked away. Murdock tracked him with his eyes until he turned the corner. Murdock did not like men with bad hats and too many questions. He might send a word to a friend at the ironmonger to keep an ear out for stolen corks.
At last light, a small group came: the rope‑walk foreman, the young man with calmer wrists, and two boys who held a jar and a board. The foreman set the board against the door. On it, he had written in his own large, slow hand:
"Technologia Soap — Check the inside fold. If you see the morning's star, it is true."
He had drawn a drawing of the day's knurl pattern next to the words. It was not perfect. It was good. He had made his own guard in his own place.
Ryan read it and smiled. "Thank you," he said. "That will keep thieves tired."
"We like clean," the foreman said. "We like rules. Boys learn when rules are simple. Make more rules that help. Not rules that punish."
"We will," Ryan said.
Inside, Sariel began the "two‑person sign‑off" page in the ledger. She noted the number of jars signed by each pair. She wanted to see if their hands worked well together. Patterns matter. Some pairs catch more small errors. She did not write that to judge anyone. She wrote it to place each person where they make the most good.
She also started a return policy page. She wrote a single rule:
We replace any jar we make that fails a check. No argument. No shame. We log it. We change the work so it does not happen again.
"Honesty in business," she said, in her soft way. "It is our value. It is also cheaper than lies."
Murdock snorted. "Cheaper in coin. Cheaper in sleep," he said.
In the last hour, Ryan walked the room and the lane. He watched the flue. Thin, clean steam rose. He watched the rule board outside. A dyer girl read it and moved her mouth with the words. He watched a rope‑walk boy check a collar fold and nod to himself. He watched Sariel write in the ledger, neat and steady. He watched Peter carry a jar like it was a baby bird and set it on the rack with care. He watched Jory rub a lip with a wet stone again. The lip had nothing wrong. Jory made it smoother anyway.
At close, Ryan wrote his line. It was the same line each night. It felt good to write the same line and know it was true.
Audit note: Choice Mandate — no call. Domain — not open. Today we used hands, rules, and time.
Day 14 — Everyday Hands
Day 14 dawned with thin sun and a promise of wind later. The hidden room had the quiet hum of a place that knows what to do. Peter was there before first bell. He warmed the room by boiling a little water in the kettle to take the cold out of the clay. He wiped the edge of the shelf. He checked the eye‑wash and said, "Changed." He checked the vinegar and said, "Full." He wrote y e s in small print in the boxes on the wall sheet, with good space between the letters.
Sariel arrived and set the ledger open. "Today we make it everyday," she said. "We stock, we check, we teach. We take coin from those who can pay. We give to those who do not have coin but show need. We keep the line safe. We keep the lane clean."
Ryan nodded. "We also post the rules outside in larger words," he said. "One board for wash. One board for checks. One board for 'Not for children' and 'Do not rub hard' and 'Use clean cloth to dry.'"
Murdock pushed the door with his shoulder and came in. He touched the fan with his hand and listened. He looked at the flue. He liked what he saw.
"Keep it neat," he said.
Jory came with a small piece of thin board he had planed smooth. He had cut it into slats for more rack space. He set them on the rack. They made space for six more jars. He said, "We do not stack too high. Shelf holds, but hands drop if too high."
"True," Ryan said. "We keep jars one man high."
They ran the loop again. Move the signs. Leach. Settle. In use. Egg. Lime. Decant. Parts. Sand glass. Trace in three. Superfat for HAND. Jar. Collars. Cuts. Hidden knurl. Rack. Rest. Two‑person sign‑off. Porter signed the margin.
By mid‑morning, more people came to the door. Not to crowd. To look. To ask.
A mother with a child came. The child had ink marks on his fingers from playing with a scrap of paper near a scribe stall. The mother looked tired. She looked kind. She said, "Is your soap for children?"
"No," Sariel said. She kept her face soft. "Not for children. Not yet. It can make a child's skin sting. We do not want that."
The mother nodded. "Thank you for saying it," she said. "What can I use to clean ink then?"
"Warm water," Sariel said. "A soft cloth. A drop of vinegar in water if the stain is old, then clean water after. Gentle. No rubbing hard."
Ryan added, "We are making a small balm for wrists for men who wash with dyes and tar. It is not for children either. But we will give you a clean cloth." He gave her a clean cloth. He did not charge her. The mother looked at him with a small surprise and a big thank you and left with the cloth and the child.
A midwife came, with a neat scarf and strong hands. She asked, "Your soap, can I use it for tools? Not babies. Tools."
"Yes," Ryan said. "Use the BENCH jar. One cut on the collar. Wash your tools with warm water and the soap. Rinse with clean water. Dry with a clean cloth. Do not use on babies. Not for skin that new."
The midwife nodded. She bought one BENCH jar with a few small coins and half a loaf of bread. Sariel wrote the trade in the ledger. She liked clean trades where both sides gave value.
The rope‑walk foreman came and handed back the test jar that had one and a half ladles superfat. "Good," he said. "No bite for the young one. But maybe a little greasy for big hands. We can use both. One for soft skin. One for hard hands."
"We will make both," Sariel said. "HAND‑SOFT and HAND‑REG. Two cuts and a dot for soft. Two cuts and no dot for regular."
Peter marked the collar key on the wall:
HAND‑REG = two cuts.
HAND‑SOFT = two cuts + small dot.
BENCH = one cut.
He drew the marks big and clear and wrote the words in simple block letters. He stepped back and looked at his work like a mason looks at a straight wall. He felt proud. Quiet proud.
By midday, the lane had changed. Two dyer girls stood by the water barrel with a HAND jar. They washed with soft circles and laughed because the foam made their hands look like small ghosts. A rope‑walk boy washed slow, then patted dry with a clean cloth Sariel had given to the crew. A porter from the Temple Quarter watched with his even eyes and said nothing. He did not need to. The scene spoke.
Inside, the team kept the work. They kept the heat even. They kept the fan steady. They kept the sand glass turns the same. They kept the egg domes the same. They kept the board outside fresh. They kept the knurl slate visible for buyers to check. They kept the two‑person sign‑off. They kept the ledger. They kept the eye‑wash and the vinegar full.
At the sign‑off table, Sariel watched pairs work. Ryan + Peter were fast but did not miss steps. Sariel + Peter were calm and caught small things others did not, like a small tear near a cork edge before it failed. Murdock + Jory were slow and careful, a big hand and a stone hand working like they built a low wall around a jar. She made a small note: "Pairs are tools. Use right pair for right day."
A small test happened in the afternoon. A man tried to sell a "Technologia" jar to the rope‑walk crew in the side lane. He claimed it had two cuts and the mark. But he did not know about the hidden knurl in the fold. The crew checked the inside fold and did not see the day's pattern. They brought the jar to Sariel.
She took the jar and held it like a judge holds paper. She opened the fold. No knurl. She smiled like a stone again.
"This is not ours," she said. "Who sold this to you?"
The crew pointed down the lane. The man was gone. Murdock went to the door and looked at the roofs. He knew a man who watched roofs. He would ask him later. But Sariel did not chase. She replaced the false jar with a true jar and wrote in the ledger: "One false collar in lane. No inner knurl. No sign‑off. Replaced at no charge. Crew taught to check fold first."
Ryan took a piece of chalk and wrote on the buyer board: "Open the fold first." He underlined it. He circled it. He tapped it.
He also wrote a small rule for himself and for the team:
If a thief copies us, we do not panic. We do not shout. We replace the jar if it touches our name. We make the work better. We teach the buyer to check. We make thieves tired.
The Fire Warden's runner walked by in the late afternoon. He was a thin man with a sash and a small book. He stopped, took a breath, and sniffed. He watched the flue. He looked in the door but did not step in.
He said, "The Warden will visit in three days. We bring a check list. Do not hide the fire."
Ryan said, "We will not hide anything. You can watch us work."
The runner wrote a line in his book and moved on. He did not frown. He did not smile. He did not tell them to stop. That was a good sign.
By the last hour, the rack looked like a small orchard. Jars sat in rows. Some had two cuts only. Some had two cuts and a dot. Some had one cut. The letters were big and clean. The inner folds had the day's small pattern. The ledger had lines that sang: batch, hour, egg‑dome, trace turns, superfat, sign‑off pair, porter sign, notes. The stock page said:
HAND‑REG: 5 rested, 3 resting by morning.
HAND‑SOFT: 3 rested, 2 resting by morning.
BENCH: 10 ready.
Sariel added a line: "Everyday hand use starts today in the lane with small rules. Teach. Watch. Adjust."
A rope‑walk boy came at close and held out his hands to Ryan. The red was gone. The skin looked like skin, not a fight. He smiled with all his teeth. He did not say many words. He said, "It works." That was enough.
A dyer woman brought a small loaf and left it on the sign‑off table. She did not ask to trade. She said, "You teach my girls to be gentle. This is thanks." She left before they could make a fuss. Murdock laughed, a big soft sound from a big chest. He broke the bread and gave each person a piece. It tasted like a gift.
In the last quiet, Ryan stood in the door. He watched the door boards. He watched the boards outside. He watched the flue. He watched the rack. He listened to the fan wind down. He listened to the small drip in the sump. He smelled the clean. He felt his chest loosen.
He turned to his team. He did not speak long.
"This is a real line now," he said. "It is safe. It is steady. It can run without me for a time. It can be checked by anyone who cares to check. It helps our work. It helps the lane. We did it with hands, rules, and time."
Murdock tapped the door with two knuckles. "We'll keep it neat," he said.
Jory raised his trowel and then set it down. "Measure twice," he said, with a small smile.
Peter said, "I will come at first bell. I will warm the room." He touched the rule board and the sign‑off table like a boy saying goodnight to two friends.
Sariel closed the ledger. She smoothed the cover with one hand. She said, "The wheel turns the same tomorrow. The log is ready."
Ryan took the chalk and wrote one more short board outside, where anyone who walked by could see:
Technologia Mill Soap — For Hands and Work
Clean hands. Clean tools.
Simple rules.
Not for children.
Ask. We will teach.
Check the inside fold for our day mark.
If it fails, we replace. No shame.
He put the chalk down. He let the quiet sit in his ears a moment. He wrote his audit line, because it was his small anchor in a strange world.
Audit note: Choice Mandate — no call. Domain — not open. Today we used hands, rules, and time.
He closed the door with care. He did not slam it. The latch clicked like a small bell. He walked out into the lane with his people. The sky above was the color of old steel. The flue sent up a thin line. The air smelled clean. The steps of his team on the cobbles sounded like a small ordered drum.
What the four days did (clear and simple)
Stock: They made enough jars for real, daily use, but not so many that the room filled with waste. They kept first‑in, first‑out. They rested HAND jars a day before use. They kept BENCH jars ready at once.
Reliable strength: Egg domes matched the coin circle. Trace came in three turns of the sand glass in cold morning and in warmer afternoon. Superfat for HAND was steady. A soft option ("HAND‑SOFT") answered soft skin pain without making the soap greasy for all.
Rules posted: Inside and outside, with large letters and simple words. Wash rules. Tool rules. Check rules. Not‑for‑children rules. Gentle‑motion rule. Dry‑with‑clean‑cloth rule.
Two‑person sign‑off: A clean table. Packer sign inside the collar fold. Witness sign inside the fold. Porter sign in the ledger. Copper hour‑tags. Batch and hour match the ledger.
Anti‑forgery on labels: Two cuts for HAND (plus dot for soft), one cut for BENCH. Hidden knurl inside the fold, a new pattern each day. A slate outside with the day's pattern. A buyer check corner to teach people to open the fold and look. A clear return policy: replace no‑questions when a check fails.
Everyday hand use: Dyer girls washed soft. Rope‑walk boys washed slow. Midwife used BENCH on tools. A mother learned what not to do and was thanked with a cloth. The lane changed by small acts, not big speeches.
Trust: They kept their word. They fixed small faults. They did not hide mistakes. They taught others how to check the work. The street began to protect the line with its own eyes.
This was Day 11 to Day 14. The line was now real. It was safe. It was steady. It was a model others could see and test. It helped the shop. It helped the lane. It made small good in a hard world. And it was ready for the Fire Warden's eyes. It could stand in the light and not blush.
Evening settled soft over South Mills Lane. The flue breathed a thin, clean line. Crates stood ready by the door, each with corks stamped by Murdock, collars cut and knurled, and a clear board tied on top: wash rules, check rules, and return policy. Jory's crates had lips so jars would not slide. Sariel's packets were neat. Peter's knots were even. The room looked like a promise.
Ryan (steady): "Tomorrow at first light, one crate goes to Dawnspire. After that, more to the rope‑walks and dyers across the Kingdom of Aurelthorn. Same rules. Same marks. Same care."
Sariel (calm): "Guides are copied. Buyers can check the fold. Users can wash safe. If anything fails, we replace."
Jory (plain): "Crates will hold on rough roads. One man high. No pride above sense."
Peter (bright): "I can train two new boys before we ship the next batch."
Murdock (warm): "My mark sits on these corks. If anyone asks, I will say, 'This is honest work.' That opens doors."
Ryan looked at them all. In his old world, he had shipped plans and slides. Many never lived. Here, he and his friends had made a real line with hands, rules, and time. It cleaned skin. It cleaned work. It made neighbors kinder. And now it would carry the name Technologia beyond Frosthaven.
Ryan (grateful): "I am proud of you. This is the first task I have truly finished that helps many. We did what I could not do before."
Murdock (tapping the door): "Keep it neat, lad."
Sariel (closing the ledger): "The wheel turns the same tomorrow."
Peter (touching the rule board): "I will warm the room at first bell."
Ryan (full): "We begin with soap. We build trust. Then we build the rest—across all Aurelthorn."
08:15 p.m. - At Kestrel Trading House, Dawnspire (Two weeks after the events of the Dungeon)
The rain had stopped over Dawnspire. Lamp smoke hung low in the Merchant Quarter. In a curtained back room, Varena's table was clean. A single ledger lay open. Odrik stood across from her with a wet hat in his hands and a nervous grin that did not reach his eyes.
Odrik (lowering his voice): "News from Frosthaven. Your street crew failed. Gin, Barden, Lyss are gone. They fell in the old pit. No bodies came back."
Varena (calm, folding the ledger): "I expected loud trouble. Not this."
Odrik (leaning in): "There is more. A miner swears he saw the man—Ryan—bleeding, then not bleeding. He says wounds closed. He says black water rose from the pit and threw Ryan out. He said, 'evil thing.' The street now calls him demon."
Varena (still): "Rumor is a knife. It cuts the hand that holds it."
Odrik (eager): "We can use it. We push the story. We flood the market with our jars before his. We say his soap is cursed. We take his buyers. You run the quiet side. I run the loud side. We split coin."
Varena (shakes head): "No. I do not touch holy fear. The Temple will smell it. The wrong eyes will turn. We work in shadow, not under sermon."
Odrik (pressing): "Come, Kestrel. This is the time. If he is a demon, the city will hate him. If he is a trick, we make him small. Either way, we win."
Varena (steady): "Listen carefully. I am done with this line. I am pulling all my people off Technologia. No buys. No leaks. No copies. If you push this alone and the Temple comes, they will not find my name on your paper."
Odrik (scowling): "Do not run soft on me. We had a plan."
Varena (quiet, hard): "Plans change when the ground moves. I hate public scandal. I hate being surprised by sloppy thieves. This smells like both. Walk away, Odrik."
Odrik (angry laugh): "Then give me one channel. One dock hand. One name."
Varena (turning the ledger closed): "No."
Odrik stood very still. Street noise thinned beyond the curtains. A bell far off marked the hour. Varena slid the ledger into a drawer and turned the key.
Varena (final): "You wanted easy coin. You can have it without me. Leave."
Odrik looked at the locked drawer, at the clean table, at Varena's cool eyes. He put his hat back on and tried to smile. It looked wrong on his face.
Odrik (forced lightness): "Very well. I will find other friends."
Varena did not answer. She stepped out by the side door and was gone into the quiet hall.
Odrik stood alone in the dim. He breathed out slow. He turned toward the main door to leave.
The door opened before he touched it. Lamplight drew a pale gold edge around a tall figure. White and gold robes caught the light. A pendant with a stag's mark rested at her chest. Her eyes were bright and steady as a lit window.
Marcelline (stepping in): "Good evening, Odrik Stoneveil."
He froze, hat halfway to his head. The air felt thinner.
Marcelline (commanding calm): "I hear you keep many stories. Tell me the one about the man who fell into the dark and rose without wound."
Her name filled the room like a bell.