The first ray of sun had barely lit the window, tingeing the packed earth floor of the modest room with a pale, golden glow. The air still held the residual smell of the previous night's bonfire, mixed with the fresh scent of dew-damp grass. Carlos, Aqua, and Tassi gathered around the rustic table, their faces illuminated by the tender morning light.
Aqua broke the silence, her wise gaze moving from Carlos to the warrior.
"You know, boy, you're incredibly lucky to have Tassi by your side," she said, her deep voice echoing softly in the room. "Without her powers, this ambitious plan of yours would surely run into famine. But with her… food is no longer a problem. If we wanted to, in a single day we could produce enough to feed the entire quilombo."
Tassi, hearing the praise, puffed out her chest with pride. A wide, confident smile spread across her face, her eyes shining like two emeralds.
"That's outside of war!" she exclaimed, raising a clenched fist. "Imagine what my power could do during one! Vines grabbing and trapping enemies, the earth opening beneath their feet, trees becoming soldiers…"
Carlos smiled, genuinely impressed and grateful. The sound of birds singing outside seemed to echo his contentment.
"That's true. I really am lucky. And that's exactly why thinking of you only as a guard is underestimating your potential way too much. You've been using huge amounts of mana lately, and that's only going to increase. Your place isn't following me around all day, Tassi. It's at the heart of what keeps this place alive."
The warrior thumped her fist hard against her chest, making the leather of her armor echo.
"That's right! Finally, you see me! You need to value me more!"
"And that's what I'm going to do," Carlos announced, his tone becoming solemn. "Starting today, I appoint you as my First Minister… the Minister of Agriculture."
Tassi blinked several times. The exuberant smile vanished, replaced by an expression of deep confusion.
"Minister? What's that?"
"Basically, you'll be in charge of everything involving agriculture in our country… Which, at the moment, is just this town with two thousand inhabitants," Carlos explained, gesturing with his hands. "In the future, you'll command dozens of people, but for now, you'll be the one to report to me on food and grain production, implement the policies I decide, and conduct experiments."
Tassi's face twisted into a visible mix of disappointment and resignation. She let out a sigh that seemed to come from the depths of her soul.
"Sounds… boring. I wanted something with more action, more excitement."
She looked at her own hands, which made life sprout from the earth, as if questioning her gift.
"But I know my power is more valuable this way. Fine, I accept the role."
"Excellent!" Carlos said, his eyes sparkling with a scientific curiosity that Aqua recognized. "And I already have your first mission. I want to test if the magical growth you cause depends on the soil's nutrients."
Tassi tilted her head, interested but still skeptical.
"For that," he continued, "you will plant two identical cotton fields. In one, use the soil as it is. In the other…" he made a dramatic pause, knowing what was coming, "you will have them collect the waste from the public latrines."
The disgust on Tassi's face was instant and absolute.
"Eww! Gross!" she exclaimed, making a face of revulsion. "I take it back! Why… human feces?"
"They are rich in nutrients that revitalize the land. I know it's unpleasant," admitted Carlos, adopting a softer, more conciliatory tone. "But think of it this way: when the clothes from this cotton are sold, you'll receive a generous salary. You can buy all the ice cream you want!"
Tassi sighed deeply, as if carrying the weight of the world on her broad shoulders. She put her hands on her knees and stood up with a funereal determination.
"Alright, alright. A task given is a task completed. I'll carry out this… mission… right now. I just need to find some very unfortunate souls for the dirty work."
She shuffled out, and Carlos couldn't suppress a low laugh after the door closed.
"Ha ha ha… she hates it, but she does it anyway. I'm so lucky. But, thinking about it, the quilombo is still small. I doubt that, even with her, we could feed a large city. That will be a problem when the population increases… a problem for Future Carlos to solve."
Aqua shook her head slowly, her face serious.
"A leader can't keep putting off problems, boy… But unfortunately, we have bigger problems at the moment. Didn't you tell me the production of your machines wasn't going well?"
"Part of what she's doing will help with that future," Carlos explained, animated. "If the soil nutrients influence the harvest, even with magic, that means maybe, just with the Grass Gem and fertilized soil, we can make plants grow and produce food. And then, anyone with the Grass Gem could give us a bountiful harvest."
"And about the machines?" Aqua insisted, bringing him back to the subject.
"Ah, yes… machine production is harder than expected. The Flying Shuttles and the Spinning Jennies have been made, tested, and are working well. The Cotton Gin has its wooden parts ready, but still needs the iron parts, which need more adjustments. As for the sewing machine… maybe it's impossible. Anyway, I'm going to the workshop to check on it."
"I trust you'll find a solution," said Aqua, with unshakable faith. "After all, only you understand these things."
After finishing their conversation, Carlos left the house. The warm morning air hit his face, and he saw Quixotina waiting outside, leaning against the wattle and daub wall.
"I can't believe you convinced Tassi to accept that job," she said, a slight smile of surprise on her lips.
"She complains, but she does it. That's what matters. Besides, there's no better role for her. Not to mention it will help me understand this world's magic better. And if it increases production, even better."
I also had to talk to Aqua to help me, giving her some praise… but everything said was true. Still, I feel a bit bad for using that tactic.
As they talked, the two headed to Nia's workshop. The building had grown, gaining a new room. From one side came the constant, noisy rhythm of the apprentices forging weapons, the rhythmic sound of hammers echoing like a war drum.
On the other side, in the new space, the atmosphere was completely different. The air was heavy and hot, carrying the metallic smell of heated iron. The constant noise of the main forge gave way to a concentrated whisper: it was Nia, muttering softly to herself, completely immersed in her work. Her hands, protected by thick leather gloves stained with soot, firmly held an ordinary iron bar. At its tip, the metal glowed with an incandescent red heat, warmed directly by the fire gems embedded in the gloves themselves. Meanwhile, the power of the iron gem in the gloves flowed from her fingers, and the metal began to move and transform, like modeling clay, trying to take the form her mind visualized. It was as if she were sculpting not with tools, but with will itself. Once satisfied with the shape, she used a sharp blade to separate the finished piece from the rest of the bar, which remained firmly gripped by the glove. In that moment, she was the beating heart of the industrial revolution Carlos was trying to bring to life.
Entering the room where Nia was, Carlos could see countless gears scattered across the earthen floor. But these gears weren't like the ones from his memories; they were crooked, poorly made, with uneven teeth.
Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.
Unfortunately, the magic had its limits. Despite the apparent ease with which the metal bent to her will, Nia had already explained to Carlos that the gloves, although powerful, didn't guarantee surgical precision. The metal responded to her mental commands, but like a wild horse – it obeyed the general direction, but not every single step of the way. Achieving a perfect finish, with exact measurements and precise angles, required a mentally draining effort and a taxing consumption of mana, a luxury she, with her limited reserves, could rarely afford.
"Good morning…" Carlos tried to use a soft voice so as not to irritate her. After all, since he'd arrived at the quilombo, he'd only given the blacksmith more and more work.
She moved slowly, turning to see who was speaking. Her face was marked by fatigue, her eyes sunken, but upon recognizing Carlos, a genuine, animated smile illuminated her features.
"This machine you gave me is really challenging!"
Carlos was astonished. He expected to find her irritated, not so enthusiastic.
"You… are you enjoying working on it?"
"But of course I am!" she exclaimed, raising her arms, which were dirty with grease. "Do you know what I did before you came? Pots and spear tips. And then, more pots and spear tips! That for ten years, Carlos! Ten years! Honestly, I couldn't take it anymore! Now I can spend the whole day tinkering with these new contraptions, while leaving the boring parts to my apprentices. Oh, and by the way, I finally managed to make the iron parts for the Cotton Gin."
"That's great!" Carlos celebrated.
"However…" Nia continued, her face turning serious again as she pointed to the sewing machine. "This one here is really proving a challenge. The gears have to be perfect, and some are so small… But that's just the first problem. The second one seems almost impossible to me: the needle. I know how to make needles, but not with that much precision… I wonder how a blacksmith in your world managed to make such small, precise parts. Good thing my hands are small, but not small enough. Are the blacksmiths in your world monsters, by any chance?"
Carlos laughed awkwardly.
"No, there aren't any blacksmiths, not like that, in the world I came from," he explained, reluctantly. "You're having difficulty because what you're doing by hand was done by machines in my world. Probably by a milling machine and a drill press…"
Nia put her hand on her chin, staining it with grease. Her eyes fixed on the void, thoughtful.
"No blacksmiths?" she murmured, as if the idea were incomprehensible. "Machines that make machines…"
Carlos was about to say something, but was interrupted when Nia dropped the tool she was holding and came to him in long strides, grabbing his hands with her own rough, warm ones.
"This is amazing!" she shouted, her eyes shining with an almost fanatical fire. "If machines make the machines, then I can spend my time inventing and imagining, while they do the hard work! And I'll still have to work on these machines that make other machines, won't I?!"
Her excitement was contagious, though a bit confusing for Carlos.
"Glad you like the idea!" he said, smiling. "Anyway, if you can't manage, don't worry. I won't ask for the impossible. I can choose a more archaic and simpler sewing machine model to make."
Nia let go of his hands suddenly and raised her arms in protest.
"No way! Unfortunately, we can't start making machines that make machines right now, so I'll have to make this one by hand! And I will succeed! I said it's almost impossible, not that it is impossible! Even if it takes five, ten years, I'll finish this machine, no matter what!"
Ten years?! I can't wait ten years for a sewing machine, I have other projects. But… we'll still produce a lot of clothes without it, or with a simpler version. Wait… if the problem is lack of mana…
"Nia," he said, the idea forming in his voice. "Do you think we could ask Bentinho for help? He activates the iron gem in the gloves, and you focus on the fire gem?"
Upon hearing this, Nia stopped suddenly. She put her hands on her chin again, her eyes moving rapidly as she processed the idea, murmuring quietly to herself.
"That… might not be a bad idea. No, it might be a great idea! I'll talk to Bentinho right now!"
Before Carlos could say another word, she shot out of the workshop like a hurricane, heading towards the carpentry workshop across the street. Carlos walked out after her, unhurried, but upon arriving, he could only see Nia being scolded by Vicente at the workshop door. The old carpenter had a vein throbbing on his forehead from sheer anger.
"Are you crazy, woman!" he shouted, gesticulating with a chisel. "How am I supposed to keep making these complex pieces without Bentinho? It's impossible!"
Upon seeing Carlos, the old man's fury instantly redirected.
"Ah, there's the one to blame for giving me so much work!" Vicente vociferated, pointing the chisel in Carlos's direction. "You know, before you showed up, my life was much easier! Every day, I'd make some table parts, some chairs, some spears… Now I have to keep making these indecipherable contraptions! And now you want to take my helper away! I'm working non-stop every day! I'm not as young as I used to be!"
Amid the shouts, Carlos's mind desperately sought a solution to calm the situation. The sawdust in the air and the sound of hammers stopping in the background showed that everyone was listening.
"Calm down, Vicente, please," Carlos said, raising his hands in a pacifying gesture. "I understand you're tired. But look, you can always ask for more assistants. In fact, you don't even need to do the heavy work anymore. You can just teach the work and supervise the helpers. And I'm in no hurry, you don't need to work yourself to death."
Vicente's panting breath began to subside. He lowered the chisel, his face still scowling, but less inflamed.
"Yeah… maybe that's not a bad idea," he admitted, reluctantly. "But without Bentinho…"
"How about this?" Carlos proposed, seeing an opening. "In the morning, Bentinho stays with you and cuts all the wood you need. And in the afternoon, he goes to work with Nia. You can have someone else finish the details and assemble the machines. What do you think?"
The old carpenter sighed once more, a deep, resigned sound. He looked at his calloused hands, then at the tools, and finally at Carlos.
"Alright…" he grumbled. "But I'm only doing this for the good of the quilombo, got it? Not for your sake. And these machines better work and we better sell a lot of clothes."
Phew… I can't believe I managed to handle that situation. Dealing with people is very, very difficult.
After resolving the conflict, Carlos left Nia and the carpenter to sort out the details and headed towards Tia Vera's restaurant for lunch, which had become his new custom.
Inside the restaurant, the air was laden with the tempting aroma of cooked beans, cassava, and stewed meat. Several workers from the workshops and the gunpowder factory were already there, eating and talking in low voices. Each would take their wooden plate, serve themselves from the large pots on the counter, and sit at the communal table. Carlos and Quixotina did the same.
"Quixotina," Carlos asked between a forkful of beans. "Do you know if there are any other adepts of the iron gem in the quilombo?"
She cut a piece of meat delicately before answering.
"Yes, there are a few. But I doubt the other mocambos will let them come here. After all, they work with other carpenters."
Carlos sighed, the sound almost lost in the restaurant's hubbub.
"I bet they don't even do that much work all day. The Armadillo Mocambo needs these carpenters much more than the others."
Quixotina brought the piece of meat to her mouth and chewed for a moment before responding.
"Then bring this issue to the king, at the next council meeting."
Hearing this, Carlos looked down, playing with the food on his plate.
"Better not… I'm already asking for too much. I'll figure this out another way."
After finishing her meat, Quixotina placed her cutlery on the plate with visible contentment.
"This restaurant idea is really sensational, Carlos. I hated cooking and washing dishes every day. Now I can just eat and enjoy!"
Hearing this lifted Carlos's spirits slightly. The two rested a while longer, watching the workers return to their jobs. It wasn't long before an adult woman entered the restaurant, followed by a bunch of children from the mocambo. As many parents were working in the workshops and wouldn't have time to prepare lunch, the children came to the restaurant. Among them was Dulcinéia, who ran to hug her mother, Quixotina, with a radiant smile.
Seeing that simple scene filled Carlos with a warm determination. He left mother and daughter enjoying the moment and went to check on the progress at the workshops. The place was always guarded, preventing spies, so he felt safe.
Entering the gunpowder workshop, an acrid smell of sulfur and charcoal hit his nostrils. Several people, with cloth masks covering their faces, worked in silent concentration. They weighed gunpowder on rudimentary scales, placed it in iron balls along with small fire gems, forming the grenades. It was then that Carlos noticed: the workshop's thatched roof was beginning to sag in one corner, and the wattle and daub walls showed deep fissures, with chunks of clay falling off.
Easy come, easy go, he thought with bitter recognition. It seems I have another problem on my hands… I guess I'll have to start making cement and bricks. This reminds me of the first time I came here… it was full of children working.
A pang of guilt hit him. Aqua had indicated trustworthy workers, and they brought their children, seeing the work as a natural apprenticeship. Carlos's indignation upon prohibiting child labor was met with bewilderment and even disappointment by some of the children, who saw collecting saltpeter and pyrite as fun, some children yearned for the mines.
The downside of not having a child protective services council, he reflected, looking at the cracks in the walls. But I absolutely cannot, under any circumstances, let children work with something so dangerous. Even if no one here understands why. If it were a simple job, like in a shop, it would be one thing, but a gunpowder factory is another story.”
