CH301 · Rewrite
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Chapter 301: Bomb and Wine

The morning after the Sleeping Island witches moved into their new quarters, Roland summoned Barov to his office. Outside the grey window, the first edge of autumn showed in the color of the river — a darker pewter than summer, moving with more weight.

“I need another recruitment notice,” Roland said, sliding a handwritten draft across the desk. “A week’s work, roughly ten people. Women preferred.”

Barov picked up the paper and read it twice. “Your Highness — forgive me — what is starch?”

“Do you know wheat flour?”

The Premier Minister hesitated. “Are you referring to coarse powder or fine? Wheat grain, after grinding, can be baked into bread or flatcake. If the bran is sifted out further, you get a fine white powder — the yield drops to six parts in ten, and the bread made from it is softer, but only the wealthy can afford the difference.”

This was what Roland valued most about Barov: the man understood goods the way a physician understood symptoms — by class, by degree of processing, by what a person’s circumstances would permit. Grain meant different things depending on whose pot it entered. A commoner’s grain went directly into boiling water, husks and sand and all, each bite announcing itself with a crack against the teeth. A minor noble’s household sieved out the stones first, then ground the grain to coarse powder, baked it into bread or pancakes. At the top of the hierarchy the kitchen went further — the bran removed, the flour rendered white and fine, the finished bread pale gold, soft, faintly sweet.

“Starch begins with fine flour and goes a step further,” Roland said. “Once I’ve hired the workers, I’ll send someone to instruct them.”

“Continue to process—” Barov could not quite contain himself. “How much wheat will that consume?”

“Three, four hundred kilograms. Enough to fill a basket the size of this table.”

Barov nodded, then asked: “Why women?”

“They’re more careful. And I want to see more women on a worker’s path rather than idle at home.” Roland paused as another thought surfaced. “The women’s literacy classes — they’re progressing faster than the men’s, aren’t they?”

“Lady Scroll does lead the Ministry of Education, and the situation is as you describe. They have little else to do beyond housework and childcare, so most of their time goes to reading and writing.”

“Good. After the next round of examinations, I want City Hall to recruit a cohort of female apprentices. Gradually expand the proportion of women in staff positions.”

Barov’s discomfort was visible. “Your Highness, there is no precedent—”

“Then we create one.” Roland kept his voice even. “It’s the fastest way to increase our workforce without waiting on population growth. If all the women of Border Town can contribute even a small task to building this city, my available staff doubles overnight. I’m only asking you to lead people toward a new way of thinking. The pay will be fair. They’ll come.”

After Barov left, Nightingale’s voice arrived from the empty air beside Roland’s ear, warm with amusement. “What delicious thing are you planning to make this time?”

“Starch isn’t food,” Roland said, lifting his tea. “Though the byproduct of making it is quite good.”

He was thinking of gluten — the sticky mass that remained after you washed and worked fine wheat flour through basin after basin of water until it blanched white. Deep-fried or stir-fried, brushed with honey or dusted with seasoning, it was pliable and dense and satisfying in a way that surprised people the first time they tasted it.

But that wasn’t the point.

The point was what settled out of the milky white water after you set it aside: a fine white precipitate, heavy and pure. Starch. One of the key ingredients for nitrostarch — an explosive with lower sensitivity than black powder, which could not be ignited by open flame alone but required a detonator, and which was more powerful than TNT. The alchemic apprentices who already knew the nitrocellulose process cold could adapt it quickly.


After lunch, the office lay quiet in the particular way it did at midday — stone walls holding the cold a little longer than the air outside, the fire ticking softly as it settled. Roland was planning to nap when someone knocked.

Nine times in ten it was Anna at this hour. His pulse picked up the moment he heard it — she’d fallen asleep here last time, exhausted, and he’d found himself hoping ever since that she’d decided to make a habit of it.

“Come in.”

The door swung open. Evelyn stood in the hallway.

Oh. He covered the beat of surprise with two careful coughs and a reassuring smile. “What can I do for you?”

She entered slowly, stopped at the edge of the table, and bowed. Her hands were clasped before her. “Your Highness — I wanted to ask you something.”

Not the usual question, he thought. Not ‘why are you kind to witches?’ He’d learned to recognize that particular look of wondering bewilderment. This was something else.

“My ability,” she said quietly. “It’s barely a rank above useless. Wine tasting.” A pause. “For one gold royal a month, you could hire a trained vintner from King’s City.”

“What do you think of the wines I’ve been making?”

She hesitated. “At first they burned too much. I could only accept them slowly. The three mixed with ice, fruit juice, and syrup — those are richer, more complex.” Another pause. “That’s only my opinion. My family ran a tavern that sold cheap ales. I don’t know the tastes of nobility.”

Roland had already gone to the bookcase. He set a jar of ale on the table in front of her. “Can you turn this into the spirit I’ve been brewing?”

“I think so.” She stretched her hand over the jar. The yellow ale began to shift — bubbles rising, the color draining away, the liquid clarifying through amber to a pale gold and then to something nearly transparent. Roland dipped a finger in before he could stop himself and touched it to his tongue.

Bitter. Burning. High proof.

He laughed — genuinely, not for her comfort. “That’s why I chose you.”

She looked confused in the way of someone who had braced for a consolation they hadn’t received.

“I’m going to establish an alcohol factory,” Roland said. He corrected himself: “A brewery. Would you like to be the chief winemaker?”

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