Psilocybin Four

Sporemageddon

"Hi, boss," Bet said. She was carrying one of our fold-out tables on her back by a pair of tough leather straps, and was dressed in what passed for our sales uniform. She had a wicker basket up against her hip as well.

"Coming in for a fresh batch?" I asked.

"Mhm," she said. "And to talk. Willow said that you were back. It's for good?"

"Probably, yeah," I said as I stepped back to let her in. It was going to be harder to see by the light of the single incandescent bulb hanging from the ceiling, but that was fine. My eyes were already used to the partial darkness anyway. "I know business has been going pretty well, though... have you been looking for other work?"

"No, not really," Bet said. "I've been leveling up my Saleswoman skill, and I might be ready for a second class in a few years if everything goes well."

I nodded along. That was something I'd strongly encouraged. Most common folk, which meant everyone in the slums, didn't have the time or energy to invest into a second class. Getting one meant levelling up skills, both class and general, until there was a total of five hundred levels between them all.

That was doable. Classes gave five skills each, and we all started with five general skills as well.

But the higher they skills grew, the slower their growth. Passing fifty in a skill was tough, and slowed things down a lot. From that point onwards, only novel experience and long, long hours of repetition really grew a skill.

It was one of those things that was touched on in Eden-Powell. Factory work was antithetical to skill growth. Doing one small, simple task a few times might gain you some experience at first, but it would taper off quickly. Then unless you changed tasks, you were stuck.

Most factories needed their workers to have two or three dedicated skills, some required more. And they sapped a person's energy as well.

The result was people stuck at a single class, with no hopes of advancing a second.

The flip side? The students at Eden-Powell were strongly encouraged to get a second class byt their second or third year at the academy. As teenagers. That was five more class skills, and five more general skills.

While the nobility didn't always reach a third class, and fourth classes were rare across all levels of society, it wasn't unheard of, not with that kind of early boost. There were obvious practical reasons why the common factory worker never got their second class. I wasn't about to say it was a conspiracy.

Conspiracy meant some sort of formalized plan made by a group in secret. The fact that factory work made people weaker in the long run wasn't part of some grand plan. It was a happy coincidence.

I sighed, bottled in the rant, then smiled at Bet. "That's good! All progress is good progress. You'll have to tell me what other skills you have. I might be able to help you train a few of them up. You had reading, right? I've... acquired some books that you might want to check out. They're not easy reads, but that'll just make you level faster."

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"Oh, I'd like that," Bet said. "So, what's the, ah, plan for now?"

I hummed, then looked around my farm. "For now, I need to get a few specific combinars going. Actually, if you have a free morning, I wouldn't mind a bit of help."

"Sure," Bet said. "With what?"

"I need to buy different mushrooms. I'm looking for a few very specific traits. You know how I can combine mushrooms together to make new ones? I'd like to make some that are even better than what we have."

And something that was far, far worse, but for now, that explanation would do well enough.

Our current farming mostly focused on [Brown Horse Head] - Uncommon. It was a kind of mushroom that had a bit of a knight-piece look to it, coloured a deeper, mottled brown. It grew rapidly, going from nub to fully grown in a little under two days, and from raw mycelium to early sprouts in about two weeks or so.

Without my attention, the girls could grow an entire harvest in a little under a month. It was tasty, it was nutritious, and it paired well with garlic and butter... not that there were many things that didn't.

I was tempted to start growing [Brown Healing Horse] - Rare, but that one had actual healing effects. We had a rack of it here, but I'd told the girls to only grow those for their own consumption. Bet looked pretty healthy, all things considered, so the slow healing magic might have been doing its job.

"Let me finish things up, then we can head out," I said.

It took another half-hour to tidy things up, even with Bet's help, but that wasn't too bad. By the time we were setting out with the farm locked up and Sir Nibbles stuffed into that basket Bet had, it was nearing ten or eleven in the morning.

Our destination was some ways away. A small alchemist's shop that had been on the edge of a nicer part of the city but as the rougher neighbourhoods expanded it was starting to be crowded out.

I suspected that they'd be closing up soon. There was a lot of need for alchemical solutions to all sorts of problems in the slums, but the sick and dying rarely had coin to spare on the tinctures and potions that would solve their ills.

It was far more profitable to try and work with those of means.

Bet and I chatted as we walked along. The people we encountered gave us looks, but we were just two innocent children moving along. Maybe we weren't as grubby as the average local, but it didn't take long in this part of town to gain a nice sheen of grime.

The shop was along the main road, which wasn't a bad place to be. It was still actively patrolled by the bullies, and even some small groups of union members who loitered around businesses and kept them 'safe.' It was called The Boil & Bottle according to the sign painted above its entrance.

We stepped in to the jingle of a brass bell above the door, and I was hit by the strange earthy smell of a dozen different tinctures and products. The shop had a few stands with rows of bottles, more to one side with hygiene products, and some medical supplies as well. The makeup section was possibly the largest in the shop, but I wasn't here to pretty up.

Instead I walked over cracked flooring tiles to the back, where a shuttered wall blocked access to a wall filled with cubbies. Each of them was carefully labeled with a piece of paper, the reagents and active ingredients within marked for any prospective alchemist to peruse.

I didn't have a license to buy anything here.

From the state this place was in, with its buzzing lights, dusty floor, and dirty windows, I strongly suspected that a few coins in the right hands would mean that it didn't matter.

There was a thriving business, keeping backyard alchemists stocked, and I imagined that the Boil & Bottle was a central hub for that business and would remain so until its doors were boarded up.

Who was I to refuse to participate in a bit of clandestine trade? All I needed was the right mushroom, and there was a good chance I'd find it here.

***