PRODUCTION CHALLENGES

Marcus arrived at Thorne & Company just as the morning sun began filtering through the narrow streets of the Lower Middle District. The shop was exactly what he'd expected from Aldric's description. Small but well-positioned, with large windows that would allow plenty of natural light for customers to examine merchandise.

Aldric was already inside, arranging bottles of oil on wooden shelves that had seen better days. He looked up as Marcus entered, and his expression was carefully neutral.

"Second thoughts?" Marcus asked.

"Third and fourth thoughts," Aldric admitted. "But I'm still here, so that's something." He gestured around the shop. "Welcome to what's left of the Thorne family business empire."

Marcus looked around, taking in the details. The shop was small but clean and organized. Rows of glass bottles containing various oils lined the walls, and the air was filled with a complex blend of floral and herbal scents. Behind the counter, a narrow staircase led to what Marcus assumed was living space above.

"The basement?" Marcus asked.

"Down here." Aldric led him to a door behind the counter that opened onto steep wooden steps. "Watch your head on the beams."

The basement was larger than Marcus had expected, with stone walls and a packed earth floor. Currently, it held crates of bottles, sacks of dried herbs, and various pieces of equipment that Marcus couldn't immediately identify.

"Oil extraction setup," Aldric explained, following his gaze. "Steam distillation, mostly. Father had trained craftsmen running it all before he died, but I had to let them go when the debts piled up. Now I handle the basic operations myself, though I'm not nearly as skilled."

Marcus nodded, understanding. "We can clear space for the soap workshop. Is it safe for chemical work?"

"With proper precautions, yes. We'll need good ventilation, clean water access, and space to store materials safely separated." Marcus walked around the basement, mentally mapping out the workspace. "These stone walls and floor are ideal for chemical work."

"Chemical work," Aldric repeated. "Right. I forget you're not just a refugee with ambitious ideas."

Marcus spent the morning creating a basic soap prototype to test his methods with local materials. He'd brought the basic materials he could afford with his remaining silver pieces. Nut oil, olive oil, and some tallow he'd managed to purchase from a livestock dealer. The lye was more challenging, but Aldric's connections had provided access to a supplier who didn't ask too many questions.

"The key," Marcus explained as he carefully measured ingredients, "is understanding how different fats combine at the smallest level. Different oils create different properties. Hardness, lather quality, moisturizing effects, scent retention."

"Smallest level?" Aldric looked confused.

Marcus caught himself. "Think of it like cooking. You know flour and water combine differently than flour and oil, right? Same principle, but with soaps, the combinations determine the final product qualities."

He began the mixing process, carefully adding lye solution to the oil mixture while stirring constantly. Working with Aldric's higher-quality oils and more precise measurements, the result was immediately better than his crude attempts in Millhaven.

"This looks professional," Aldric said, clearly surprised as Marcus added rose oil to half the mixture and lavender to the other half. The soap took on delicate colors and rich scents.

"Twenty-four hours to set properly," Marcus said. "Then four to six weeks to cure fully. The chemistry continues working even after it solidifies."

As Marcus poured the soap into wooden molds Aldric had improvised from crates, he felt a moment of triumph. He turned to show Aldric the smooth pour technique and promptly caught his elbow on an overhead beam, sending soap mixture splattering across the basement floor.

"Well," Aldric said after stunned silence, "at least now we know the basement floor needs better lighting."

Marcus stared at the mess, heat rising in his cheeks. "I'm usually more coordinated than this."

"Are you? Because I'm starting to wonder if coordination might not be your strongest skill."

"I'm a thinker, not a graceful person," Marcus admitted, grabbing a cloth to clean up the spilled soap. "This is why I prefer working with ideas instead of my hands."

"Unfortunately, business requires both," Aldric pointed out, but he was smiling as he helped clean up. "Next time, maybe announce when you're planning to turn around suddenly?"

Despite the mishap, they'd successfully created two different soap varieties, and the remaining mixture had set beautifully in the molds. Marcus felt cautiously optimistic as they covered the workshop area and headed upstairs.

"Since we must wait for lye delivery," Aldric said as they worked, "we should begin your reading lessons. If you're going to be my business partner, you need to understand contracts, correspondence, and inventory records."

He produced a slim book from one of the crates. A basic primer on Valdrian commercial writing. Marcus opened it and felt overwhelmed. The formal script was nothing like the simple letters he'd learned in the village. Each character seemed to have multiple variations depending on context, and many incorporated decorative flourishes that made them difficult to distinguish.

"This," Marcus said slowly, "is going to take longer than I thought."

"Most people spend years learning to read and write properly," Aldric said. "The fact that you can read basic text puts you ahead of many merchants. But formal script..." He pointed to a particularly ornate character. "This single symbol can represent different concepts depending on how many flourishes it has and what other characters surround it."

Marcus stared at the page, feeling like he was trying to decode hieroglyphics. In his modern world, he could read chemistry journals and complex technical manuals. Here, he was struggling with what amounted to fancy handwriting.

"Start with these basic commercial terms," Aldric suggested, showing him a list. "Contract, payment, delivery, quality, quantity. Once you can recognize and write those consistently, we'll move on to more complex concepts."

For the next two hours, Marcus practiced copying characters while Aldric worked on oil inventory. The process was frustratingly slow. Marcus's hand wasn't used to the flowing motions required for proper script, and he kept making characters too angular or missing essential flourishes.

"Like this," Aldric demonstrated, writing the symbol for "quality" with smooth, confident strokes. "The brush should flow, not scratch."

Marcus tried to copy the motion and produced something that looked like a drunk spider had fallen into an inkwell. "How did you learn to write this well?"

"Private tutors from age five," Aldric replied. "Advantage of being born noble, even if the family fortune was already disappearing. My father insisted on proper education, even when we couldn't afford proper meals."

Marcus made a mental note to practice more carefully. This wasn't just about business communication. Being able to read and write formal Valdrian would be essential for navigating this society as anything more than a laborer.

"Let's break from writing," Aldric suggested as Marcus's frustration became increasingly obvious. "Show me more about soap chemistry."

Marcus felt relief as they returned to practical work. He explained the saponification process, demonstrated proper temperature control, and showed Aldric how different oil combinations would create products with distinct characteristics.

"The key is consistency," Marcus explained. "Every batch needs to be identical in quality, appearance, and scent. That's what separates professional goods from amateur attempts."

As afternoon arrived, Aldric showed Marcus the other aspects of the oil business that would be his responsibility during the curing period. Steam distillation required constant attention, and inventory management involved tracking dozens of different oils with varying shelf lives and quality requirements.

"Most of our income comes from bulk sales to perfumers and apothecaries," Aldric explained. "But we also do custom blending for wealthy customers who want specific scents for personal use. That's where the real profit is. Premium prices for specialized products."

Marcus was taking notes in his improving but still clumsy script when Aldric raised another important point.

"You mentioned needing to pay a silver piece each week for housing. I can cover that through your work here, but there's still the matter of your tax obligation."

"Tax obligation?"

"All residents of Drakmoor, even refugees, pay weekly taxes to support the war effort. Since you're not employed in an official capacity, you'll be assessed as an independent worker. Probably another silver piece per week."

Marcus felt his stomach drop. Two silver pieces per week was more than he'd calculated. "How am I supposed to earn that much when I'm working here during the day?"

"Night work," Aldric said simply. "There are people who need labor after sunset. Warehouse work, cleaning large buildings, moving goods from carts to storage. It's hard work, but it pays quickly."

That evening, Marcus found himself at the warehouse district, joining a crew of men moving trade goods from incoming carts to storage facilities. The work was exactly as advertised. Hard, dirty, and tiring. But it paid a copper piece per hour, and Marcus calculated he could earn his silver piece with two nights of work per week.

The other workers were a mix of refugees and local citizens who needed extra income. Marcus kept his head down and focused on the work, trying not to think about how different this was from his college classes.

"New fellow?" asked the man working beside him, a grizzled warehouse worker with arms like tree trunks.

"Just arrived in the city," Marcus replied carefully.

"Refugee?"

"Yes."

The man nodded sympathetically. "Hard times for everyone. But good that you're willing to work for your keep. Some of these newcomers expect everything handed to them."

Marcus nodded and continued moving cargo. Around him, the conversation of the work crew painted a picture of a city under strain. Food prices were rising, housing was scarce, and everyone was feeling the pressure of supporting the massive refugee population while preparing for war.

By the time he finished his shift and made his way back to Building 47, Marcus was exhausted. His muscles ached from unaccustomed labor, his hands were stained with warehouse grime, and his mind was spinning with everything he'd learned about his new life.

Tomorrow, he would return to Aldric's shop to continue practicing Valdrian script and working with the oil business. His soap was curing in the basement, slowly undergoing the chemical processes that would determine whether his business plan had any hope of success.

Six weeks to prove himself. And already, Marcus was beginning to understand just how challenging those six weeks were going to be.