r/createthisworld

The Aelish nobles usually make parties happen, and that's because they customarily throw parties when they meet. Curiously, this isn't a simple show pecuniary power, but an abrupt redecoration of space and time to become something that they preferred it to be. They had gentle blood, and gentle natures, and they wanted their surroundings to be suiting to their gentle selves. This often meant getting completely drunk on fine wine while wearing finery and talking about their fine selves. There were lots of variations on these themes, but a few of the nobility liked to put on airs likes being patrons of the sciences instead of readers of bizarre spellbooks and annoying gossips. These were the Midnight Readers, who his majesty King Al had personally just put in quite a lot of effort to appease. As a 'party', or group of nobles who parties together, they were worth appeasing on the surface.

More importantly, appeasing the Midnight Readers has given King Al a bit of a boost with another party: the 'Trade Lords'. This is not their real or chosen name, but it is what everyone else, from the Empire to Freeport calls them. They have to deal with it, but at least it gets them to their intended audience. They are the primary sellers of wool, exporters of grain, and bringers of fish to the inside of the country. Their consent to move goods is probably the biggest check on the royal power of deciding who eats and who starves, and they have been enjoying a guarded detente with the Crown for the past 3 and a half decades. The Crown's recently appeasing of the nerds has gotten plenty of attention: by managing to make them happy, King Al has stopped the Midnight Readers from being annoying in public, and so far done so in such a way that it has not cost too much money...yet.

At this party, King Al has rented a suite of rooms above a banquet hall-the Midnight Readers themselves rented the hall-and has set up exhibits of glass manufactures in Aelbaion. In the hall itself, the dishes and bowls were all made of glass, as were the drinking cups. Much of the glass was green forest glass, but substantial efforts had been made to make clearer products; this was only so-so. What the Aelish had achieved and then set the table with had noticeable yellow or green tints-or the inclusion of a significant amount of lead; this was evidenced in their more advanced products, which were displayed upstairs. King Al, however, remained downstairs for much of the event, but he had quite a presence upstairs. This presence was his son, Price Vespasian.

Vespasian, unlike his father, is an unusually quiet person, walking around with little fanfare. This is not because he lacks prestige; it is because he only deigns to set as much foot in the universe around him as he chooses, and he looks like a blonde cat. He is difficult to pin down on many things, including his gender and pronouns, and today is no exception. Right now, he is fine with acting like a man; he is even more fine with the wine that he is drinking. What he considers finest is the mirror that he is admiring himself in; it is also by far the most expensive piece of fine art in the room. And yet, Vespasian is not being especially vain. The mirror's large size allowed it's ornamentation, which was a show of skill and prestige for the artist.

In the center of the room is a nice big crowd of nobility, members of the Midnight Readers. A few of the regional Trade Lords are also cycling through. Vespasian has already exchanged words with a few of them, although he isn't that eager to talk. That could be interpreted by something like sociability on the part of the Midnight Readers, who have been trying to recruit him since he was first presented to court. To the prince, they are nothing other than supremely annoying, all eagerness without any appreciation for the difficulty of what they are doing, or knowledge of the heft of their actions.

'Your highness.'

Vespasian rolled his eyes in front of everyone. It was Lord Vanquemire De La Sanchois, or as he called himself, Pentalos. He often wore a mask that looked like a pentagram, and thought that he was the best at mathematics-based duels. More infuriatingly, he was able to understand the effort of getting things done-which others didn't.

'Mmr. Pentalos.'

'It is always a pleasure to meet you amongst the curiosities of the world, and the creations of Aelbaion.' Pentalos bowed very carefully. His clothing was liable to catch on surrounding objects. 'Are you enjoying the exhibits?'

'Indeed.' Vespasian tried to sidle past Pentalos and to the main set of attractions. 'They are some of the most unique and masterful crafts of Aelbaion in the past two decades, I believe.'

'Ah, but they pale in comparison to the Diptychs of Manetevi-'

'I cannot see the Diptychs of Manetavi because Manetavi is in seclusion, and I am also only 24. They are only viewable to people who have the age of 27, as you know.'

'I am most aware, your majesty. For now I seek to stoke your curiosity.'

The prince moved to the first table. It had several reading stones on it, with smooth bottoms and clear enough insides. Looking down at them, he could move them over some pieces of very small text; as he did, the text appeared much larger to him. Each stone had been made by a different glassworker, and their marks were present on the side of the stones. Carefully, he turned one over in his hand, looking at it.

'I think I'll be buying one, Pentalos. It will be most convenient. Have you?'

'My order has been placed, and I am waiting to hear from the craftsman in my home duchy. I predict that I will have it in four months.'

Vespasian put the stone down, then looked at the text sample. 'This was made by an engine, Pentalos.'

'Isn't it remarkable?'

'Extremely.' Vespasin put the text sample down in turn. 'We are standing on the precipice of a series of new ages. An age of engines, an age of flight, an age of great production.'

'We will see such miracles, your highness.'

'We shall see them.' The prince sighed, rearranging his hair. 'Whether we like them or not. Pentalos...'

'You should be delighted, your highness!' Pentalos raised his hands. 'Aelbaion-'

'All of these great devices originated from outside the country.' The prince sighed. 'Not-'

'The singing nun has singlehandedly described how the passage of heritable traits move through plants. We manipulate the essence of beer and bread. And everyone uses our weights to trade our wool.' Pentalos had a point. 'It is not so bleak as you sound, your highness.'

Vespasian raised a hand, and then held it for a second, considering. He changed his mind abruptly. 'More wine, if you please.' Pentalos eagerly passed him some. 'Flying machines, Pentalos. Airships. And we...are making dental tools.' A hand, not his, gestured to another table.

'We have pulled more teeth in a year than they do in five in the Harpy lands.' Pentalos used his apprentice's gesture to segway into Aelbaion breaking the Dentists' Curse. (1)

'How do you know that?' Vespasian raised an eyebrow.

'The Midnight Readers are versed in many mysteries of understanding.' Pentalos smiled under the stupid mask. 'I am aware of the GDP of the Empire of Six Cities-'

'What the devils are you talking about?' Vespasian looked confused. 'Stop making up nonsense.'

'Our secrets are not nonsense, your highness.'

Vespasian studied the dental tools. They were light, and made of good steel, with tiny mirrors attached. 'They are. Life is nonsense, Pentalos. Pure nonsense.'

'You, sire, need to go flying again.' Pentalos wasn't taking any of this.

'Perhaps. Water, servant.' He truly did seem dispassionate. 'Say, Pentalos...what's that on the stand over there.' Both of them knew what was on the stand over there.

'These, my lord, are spectacles.'

'I see.' Vespasian really didn't want to. 'Are they made here?'

'They are, my lord. This pair was made in Couroffe itself.'

'Huh.' The Prince looked at the pair of eyeglasses, which were mounted on a stand gilded embroidery. 'They were made while all of that absolute Lady-piss was going on outside.' (2)

'Yes, Prince Vespasian.' Pentalos smiled a little behind the mask as the prince turned away. 'Do try them on.'

Frowning, the prince picked up the glasses. They were heavy, with a wooden frame and especially thick lenses. 'These should improve my vision?'

'Yes, your highness. They improved mine-'

Prince Vespasian picked up the glasses and held them up, slipping them over his face. The world in front of him warped, then twitched-

'Ow.' Wincing, the prince put them down.

'They are powerful, your highness!' Pentalos was clearly grinning.

'Yes. Perhaps too. I may need a lighter pair, if I do.'

'This shall lead to another type of medicine, I am sure of it.' The Midnight Reader rubbed his hands together. Vespasian sighed, carefully readjusting the spectacles after he had put them back. 'Have you heard of the ideas of optometry, sire?'

'Yes. By the Lady, Pentalos, please stop that hand rubbing, you're fucking humiliating yourself.'

'Do I look like the scheming advisor, your highness?'

'Yes. And I am the drunk one, Penty.'

'Do not call me that!' Pentalos looked flustered. 'It is undignified!'

'Fine. Servants, water.' One of the staff brough his majesty a cup of clear water, flavored with lavender. 'Ah-thank you-' Vespasian sipped it. 'Oh. Just flavored. Thank you kindly.' The servant, one braid behind their ear, nodded. 'Pentalos...the consequences of everything...of all this.'

'The costs, your highness?' Pentalos did some more hand rubbing.

'Yes.' Vespasin threw back the water. 'Of making the items, of getting the supplies, of running the shops, and of making the crafters the people they were. This will...if it takes one town for each shop, Pentalos, you must understand...' There was silence as he drank the rest of the water.

'Yes, sire. I understand.' Pentalos stopped rubbing his hand. 'Will you meet with us in the Loft sometime?'

'When you air it out.' Vespasian looked for more water. More was brought. 'That place is stifling.'

Pentalos smiled. 'As your highness wishes. Your father has recently been looking at obtaining an ice engine. And we shall oblige him.'

Vespasian looked modestly surprised. 'You fucker.'

'Yes, your highness?'

'You've intrigued me, and annoyed me. I will arrive when you have that damn engine installed, and not before.' And then Prince Vespasian took his cloak and gave it false swirl-so as not to knock anything over-then strode from the exhibition room.

'Your highness!' Pentalos called after him. 'It doesn't go in the building...'

1. For decades, the Aelish had not ever been able to have a single person set up and run a dental practice for more than five years.

2. He means the ongoing paving projects in the capital.

"By far the best way to ensure peace with your neighbors is to make pursuing war far more costly than not. This is, as it turns out, shockingly easy. Good soldiers are major investments - quality armor and weapons, years of training, a large and often meat-heavy diet purely to create the proper physique, and the training or hiring of countless support personnel. What, then, do such fine soldiers do when war comes? They die, often and badly, if not by enemy blades than by camp fever or a dozen other causes. And for what? At best some land, worthless without those to properly work it, and some raw resources. RAW resources - definitionally the least valuable, least useful form! It's only when the foundries and artisans get their paws on them that you actually get something worthwhile, and even then it's scarcely worth wasting fine steel. Only fools and zealots wage war, and yet the majority of other powers regularly cede control to such madmen!"

~ Thoughts On the Generation of Mutual Profit by Pothos, rant continues for several more pages

Deep within the narrow winding stone alleys that form the floor of the High District, a claw rasps gently against a wooden door, rousing Weave-Drinker[1] from her torpor. It was not sleep, not as the soft-bodied races experienced it, and was not strictly necessary (although certainly rejuvenating), but she nonetheless found herself drawing to it more with age. The vibrance and clamor of the city was intriguing, yes, but at a certain point it was also exhausting and, in its own way, predictable. Rising from her chair to get the door, she hoped it would prove a welcome distraction.

Standing outside was one of her bonded Runners, Wax-Wind[2], claws folded adorably behind her back as she almost shook with anticipation, waiting to deliver her message.

"I take it you've learned something of significant interest?" Weave-Drinker buzzed softly.

"Yes, ma'am. There's been some odd activity in the temple district."

"The temple district?" A trill rose from her syrinx unbidden. This would be interesting indeed. "It's been decades since the old priests did anything but bicker. I was worried I'd be dead before anything else approaching that delightful storm god fiasco."

The runner fidgeted a bit uncomfortably. "Er, well, not with the priests exactly, or at least not the old ones..."

"Spit it out then. I won't bite."

"Yes, ma'am! The old Ayethan fox church has had some odd rumors about it for a few months now, and I just got news of why. Jackal still owed me a favor from the wooden spoon thing, and his aunt works at one of the big temples, and she said that they've been expanding a bunch lately and selling more stuff, only churchy stuff because of the laws but way more than usual, and she says a lot of it seems kinda weird or scammy, so then I went to ask some of my regular folks around there and they said a new fox set up shop lately around that area but she won't show her face or paws or anything which means she's probably real distinctive and then I remembered the Ayethans got that one priest from down south with the grey fur, so I'm thinking she's probably in the business now."

As inefficient as it was, there was something to be said for the way mammals had to stop speaking to breathe. Still, that was interesting. Checking it against the last few weeks of reports from her family, that did seem likely, and lot of details had come in before, alone and sufficiently interspersed with other news to conceal their significance. A new broker associated with a church, using it to conceal profits. The fox in question had also apparently formed connections with a courier in the area, which now made much more sense...

The identity of a secretive new member of the business, with potentially severe consequences, synthesized independently of any of the major networks. A decidedly valuable piece of information, if difficult to sell without running afoul of any unwritten rules. Like most industries in Freeport, information brokers were forced to strike a careful balance between vicious competition and looking out for their own. Still, even if it was off-limits for regular clientele, she could think of at least two dozen wealthy customers who would be extremely interested.

"Excellent work. Take two laurels from the chest for your next shopping trip and wait in my quarters. I have a few letters to write."

[1] In Witness-tongue, the full translation would be "she[speaker] who drinks the hidden webs"

[2] "she[runner, bonded] who molds the wax-soft gales"

King Aeldebaric and Queen Ethellebelle were taking a breather. They had spent all day playing tennis, and earlier they had spent most of the evening trying to figure out how to set up a travelling chess set that came in five pieces; this had ended in failure and lot of a laughter. They'd been surrounded by courtiers all day, and now they were retiring for the night. His Majesty had gone hunting a week ago, and many of the nobles had stuck around, enjoying his company. This had left the two precious little time to each other, and they'd been spending most of it blowing off steam and reinvigorating their relationship. Rulership took it's toll in the hardest of ways, and made people strangers to others and their closest loved ones.

It also gave them plenty to talk about.

"So, my dear. You've been continuing your father's legacy, it seems." The Queen was very studiously stretching before bed.

The King sat, rubbing his lower back. "I wish you wouldn't open conversations like this."

"I'm sorry. I find it fitting."

"It feels like you're taking a dig at me for how I exhibit rulership."

"What do you want, then?"

"Advice." He started off into the middle distance. "Just...advice...like he would have given me."

"I can't do that." The Queen tried to sound contrite. "But I can advise you how I would advise you."

"You're so aware of your limits." His majesty was completing wrist exercises. "I wish I was the same."

"I wish others respect your limits more." The Queen did have encouragement for him. "You would work yourself past any reasonable limit for the Kingdom, and then some."

"The world will not respect my limits." Aeldebaric stood, touched his toes, sat again. "So I will have to surpass them from time to time. The other side to that coin is that I do not respect it's limits, either."

"Is that why you're so intent on bringing blackpowder to Aelbaion?"

"Lady, no." His Majesty sighed. "I am intent on it because it will change the world, whether I want it to or not. So we might as well be the ones changing it."

"Well, that is a very fair answer to hear." Ethellebelle was putting her hair up once more, making sure it stayed in place. "It's much less worrying than what others might say."

"Kings are weird creatures, aren't we?"

"Yes. Extremely prone to bloviation, I do say."

"Oh, you're a lawyer-" His tone was teasing, and he smiled.

"I have taste." She faked a bit of annoyance. "And I have not been called to the bar. So I am legally trained, but not a lawyer."

"You're a lawyer to me." He was firm. "And I trust your acumen in it's entirety."

"You're a better judge of character than I am." She tried to change the subject. "Don't get around this with praise. Judge yourself."

"I am a middle aged king who is mostly satisfied with how his life has been going so far. I am scared of the consequences of my actions, and I am scared of my accomplishments being undone. I am afraid of my nobility, for they do not like having their power curbed, or thinking that they have it curbed. I worry about my son. I worry about my wife's death. I want to be done with it all. I know that when I act, things happen. I know that I have to make decisions that hurt others because I am a King, and I need to keep the entire edifice up, or else there will be a perilous fall."

Her Majesty regarded her husband for quite some time. "You judge yourself...fairly well. But you left out your luck, and your supporters."

"That's the blessing of the Lady, Belle. And I am trying to judge myself."

"I judge a man by the company he keeps. And your company...I did not think you would keep it so much when you came to the throne, but you did."

"It is because I am pious." He sighed. "I will pray when I wake, when I sleep. I will commission more churches and annexes and outbuildings than my father did before I die. I will keep Her tenets. I will plant a hundred acre woods. That will make the peasants love me, and the Church call me a great man, and the city folk not worry too much. They...they care about that kind of thing. They all gossip about us."

"You also use your piety and chivalry to bash the nobles over the head." She had a good retort. "And so far it's worked."

"I have been right, and I have followed your advice to yell loudly."

"That you have."

"Do you think it worked?"

"Oh, absolutely."

He finished stretching, sighed heavily, and clapped his hands. In moved servants, bringing bedtime tea. The royal couple had decamped to a private estate, one of a few that the Crown had deeper in the Kingdom for personal use. "Do you think this little venture is working? You've finally had time to conduct a thorough inspection of the books and the works. Have you been able to tell where the lost money is going?"

"It's going to making blackpowder weaponry." Ethellebelle spoke archly, with an undertone suggesting the obvious. "This is not easy to do. We are learning how to make powder as a people, and those learning how to make powder are learning how to make it as a team. We are likewise learning how to make the fire-tubes. This is for devices closed at one end that do not move. We are learning how to make rockets, and fire arrows, and color their emissions. This is not cheap, and cannot be." She said this with clear intent for the servants to hear.

"I believe you." The King looked wearied. He'd had a long day. "It is just irksome, you know. Vaneric achieved so much, it seemed, with so little effort."

"That is because he was focused on exactly what he wanted." The Queen was helped to change into her bed linens. "And you are less so. Perhaps it is because you want greater things. What your father did was simple: he learned of the bomb and the grenade. He found out how one might set up grenadiers on foot and on horseback. His scholars learned how to make small amounts of powder, and to cast iron shells. They taught these techniques to gallant men who were unafraid of being blown up; at the same time, he made sure that the foe were afraid of being blown up. He made bomb-throwers, and used them on several weaker forts-as examples. Everyone knew of his mastery of this foreign knowledge."

"Foreign knowledge." The King grunted. "Not of the Aelish, or of the Lady."

"Yes, darling. Foreign. But that only means that we must learn it ourselves before we use it. Then we can use it without issue."

"If you think that we are spending our coin in such a way that this is a learning process, I will accept it. But I will ask for you to explain why, and to also tell me what you think of the works."

Queen Ethellebelle stopped and thought for a moment-but only a moment. "Your father understood how men must use this artifice and how to use these men before he understood the artifice itself. He likely used the men better than the engines. By doing so, he avoided his weakness-and he trained his men. You are training different people, you are getting craftsmen familiar with this artifice. They are different than soldiers, they have opinions and are less disciplined-"

"They are men of the town, women of the city." The King nodded, understanding. "So I am training a city, and a town, instead of an army?"

"That is correct."

"Damn. That is always complicated. Shall we get into bed?"

"Finish your tea, dear."

"Ah, yes. Thank you." He drank. "So I am teaching a town about how to make hand-guns, and then having them build bigger and better engines. You had a look at the works, did you not?"

"I did. I think that the roads need to be rebuilt, twenty more sheds need to be erected, tool purchases need to be finished, 56 chests need to be bought, 5 more carpenters hired in-the usual. The charcoal works is fine, the sulfur purchasing needs to be sorted out, and the saltpeter works needs to be started on. The docks must be repaired, and the iron shipment is findable in the forest if they cut down all the trees. Oh, and they need a new barracks, and some drains. And to form their own band so that no one who is bad at music sings."

"Then we shall do that." The King drained his tea with a long gulp. "My inspection brought me to the same conclusion. How is the forge?"

"Adequate and cramped." She shrugged. "It is working for the production of hand-guns. It should be turned into a much larger workshop after you fix everything else there. The site was only chosen for the easy availability of a test firing range."

"Eh. It's probably kept some fingers on."

"That it has. But we are going to run the risk of a cholera outbreak if we don't fix it up."

"Damn. I'll hire in the contractors, then."

"The money will be well spent. But I have another recommendation for you to consider."

"Do go ahead." He had given the teacup back to the servants and was stepping into bed. "Your wisdom supersedes mine."

Another eye roll greeted that declaration. "Teach blackpowder to the town and the city for other reasons. Employ it for blasting away rock and earth in mines. Give them beautiful light shows with rockets. Both will be well received, and they'll learn on their own."

The King sprang right back up. "That's excellent! Oh, Belle, you are superb!"

She smiled, fully. "I try. Now, your royal highness...if I may make one request?"

"Please do."

"I would like a hand-gun."

He took her hand and kissed it. "As her highness wishes."

The nature of the geography in the land of Aelbaion has necessitated that the bulk of Aelbic calories in the countryside come from taking care of herds of animals. The bulk of these are goats and sheep, the former capable of living on anything, and the latter producing fine wool for clothing. Most of the ranching and herding done here is at the level of the village; the Dukes and Counts typically are the independent lage producers of animals and animal products. Economies of scale are only so realizable when those economizing are more interested in killing and raiding their neighbors than the logistics of a cattle drive, and the Horse Lords, as a group of people, have suffered from an almost social underdevelopment that has not truly been challenged until the start of Vanerics' peace.

The halting of raids was extremely beneficial for the population of goats, which quickly took over the country. This in turn was beneficial for the population of larger predators, which thankfully relieved the peasantry of the specter of goats destroying the local ecosystem. With the rising tide of religious certainty and legal change that had washed over the land, pasturing greatly improved and reasonable land use practices became ubiquitous. Goats were once a household herdnig animal, but in some places began to be scaled to village-sized herds, giving the peasantry more economic power and security. This was not something that the lords would take lying down, but they had much bigger worries: an increase in the Crown's power and the constant need to keep an eye on their neighbors just in case they're preparing for war is a big distraction from oppressing the peasantry.

But the peasantry are just like their goats. The Aelish goats have one thing going for them, and that is their abiltiy to survive in ultra broken, highly rocky terrain by climbing anywhere and eating anything. These goats can be regarded as semi-domesticated; they tpically wander around all day and come back home at night. Home used to be a small crevice or crag, now it is a sheltered pasture or a barn. Sometimes, they can be lured in more quickly by a pot of boiling vegetables. If a peasant has a shortbow and a good shooting spot, they can quickly bag a predator that might be drawn to ambush their returning animals. Once it is night time, the goats can be readily milked, and this milk drank fresh from the goat or turned into cheese.

Making cheese has become one of the most common means of Aelish food preservation-at least by individual practitioner. Pretty much anyone can lay their hands on some milk, prepare it, and lay it away. Some cheeses last longer than others; and these can go into storage for a long time-and sometimes become more enjoyable dishes themseles. The most common kind of storage is a cheese cave, and while these store mostly hard cheeses, the boom in cheesemaking has opened up culinary options and calories for the majority of the country that haven't truly been practiced on a mass scale before. Most cheese is 'cottage cheese' and taken by the worker on the go; herbs are often added for flavor. Cheese from cheese caves can be taken out and even shipped, and across the country there is a nascent market for cheese. Flavor swaps typically happen on foot, however, as herdsfolk exchange foods and cheese.

Despite the Aelbic passion for fashion, large-scale ranching for wool is only so developed. This is due to the semi-rarity of ready forage; despite the length and breadth of the lands of many lords and the size of their pasture, the south of the country is not hospitable to industrial animal raising. Land use policies have ameliorated the effects of these inherently challenging conditions somewhat; the widespread adoption of water-meadows and water storage has expanded areas of available pasture. The decrease in disease spread and the improvent in water availability have made sheep able to tolerate living across much more of the land. This has made some of the numbers line up, and it has also made it possible to make a lot more money off of sheep farming.

But to make money, you gotta spend money. Sheep made wool, and eventually this wool needed to come off during shearing time. To this end, the first sheep safety sheds, which were places where herds would be safely kept while the animals were being sheared. These sheds would be busy in the springtime, then shuttered when not needed. The raw wool would be stored until it could be picked up for cleaning and carding, which were the first labor intensive steps to getting workable thread. All of these had a network of dirt roads around them, which would disintegrate into mud during the spring. Even as it's sheep herding began to get organized under the banner of counts and lesser nobles, the country ran into the problems of logistics that would plague any industrialist. We will return to these shearing operations later.

There is one more star of Aelbic pastures: the cow. There are many breeds, but they are often divided into two categories: 'peasant cows', which have a lower center of gravity and prefer eating weeds, and 'noble cows', which are taller and prefer grains. The former can survive on substandard fare but do not really appeal to the eye, while the latter look majestic but can die of mold poionining in an afternoon if unlucky. Obviously, the former exist in much greater numbers, despite the annoyance that occurrs when the cattle need to empty their guts of something toxic but cannot vomit. Yes, these cattle get explosive diarrahea. But this is not solely why cattle herding is limited. Cows usually only provide milk on a regular basis, and the current limitations of fields down south cannot support massive herds of cattle. Beef remains extremely expensive, a food for lords or for those who personally own cattle to eat.

On top of this, the meat taken from an animal has to be preserved. While the Aelish were fine assembling slaughtering blocks earlier, those lords who kept herds of beef for profit would soon find that they needed to go further. A freshly slaughtered animal has to be properly butchered, taken for cuts of meat and organs, harvested for everything that humans can eat. In the middle ages, one can afford to waste nothing. This is the duty of the slaughterhouse, the unpalatable back-end to every boucherie and meat hall. After every cut of the throat, the butchers' staff get to work, taking everything that they can from the animal. Waste of one animal will mean that another one has to be killed, and that's a waste of a life. So the slaugterhouse stays busy. Bones are removed, sometimes dried for use as a material, otherwise ground up for fertilizer. Cartilege is taken for similar use, and organs are either turned into food or taken for alchemical components. Connective tissue is also taken for making glue, vital for binding together everything from books to bows. Fat is taken and rendered down into everything from ink components to fuels. Blood is likewise saved for fertilizer. Horns, the rarest part of the animal, are saved with significant effort and then sold to someone who can use them. Without access to petrochemicals to make polymers that can form long, stretchy materials, the Aelish must use aninals to 'make' the closest equivalents with their bodies; they cannot lose anything for lack of effort.

The traditional way to preserve meat is smoking. Trees are close by, and the oceans are far away. Bringing salt up to the south would not be easy. So far, there have been no big salt sources found in the hills, so mining will not provide much. Some salt comes up from the coast, but the Aelish will swear by the superiority of smoked beef, mutton, and lamb. They will hold great and fervent disputes, however, over how it should be smoked, the time and the species of the tree used; they will set aside wood specifically for these purposes and preserve it, they will spare no expense to build great smokers for all of their meat. As the peace came, the smokers only got bigger and better, a rare spot of full performance.

Fashion also requires leather in endless quantities and superb quality. The Aelish do not skimp here, either. Leather-particularly from 'noble cows'-is taken from the animal immediately after slaughter, then brought to the tannery drying racks as soon as possible. The best reagents and the most superb of tools are placed here; and unlike the other operations, which are seasonal, the leatherworks operate year round. Deep in the hinterlands, one will suddenly find bustling villages centered around a large compound with multiple buildings devoted solely to producing fine leather and leather clothing. These outposts of skill and artistic merit are rare drivers of development and wealth generation in otherwise dead-end places, and they are often centers of cattle deposition during the spring and summertime. In the fall, the finest cuts of leather and the best clothing go down the center of the country while the roads aren't washed out, to be paid for by wealthy lords and their tailors. With peace, ever more leather has been made, and ever more cattle have been dropped off, and the cycle repeats.

Some of the wealth and skill of the rest of the parts of the country have leaked into the south. This has been carried along the cattle drive, which has been the principle artery of wealth movement from south to everywhere else. The transit of cattle is an outlay of wealth from one area to another, and gains returns in capital and skilled labor. Depots of grain and hay can be drawn on, and after the cities in the Crownlands or the hungry mouths of the Trade Lords' market-bastions, the drives will end up in the villages before Freeport. The Horse-Lords of the south, as they often boast, feed the best people in the Kingdom and clothe all the rest; in return they get gold and a small flow of experts and knowledge. For example, Pipette-men are messing around with using the bacteria in the cheese to make better yogurts-but fermentation of dairy is still a touch and go effort at this point in time. Culinary breakthroughs are on the horizon, however. The Horse-Lords are enjoying their peace, no matter what they might say, and they are finding plenty of things to get occupied with. Right now, one of those things is enjoying prosperity.