Day 4 — Build the wheel that turns (process to make soap)
Frosthaven woke with thin light and a bite of cold air. Smoke from baker ovens and dye vats drifted low. In South Mills Lane, the hidden room now looked less like a secret and more like work. The brick ring under the iron kettle was set. The flue rose neat, with twin filter pots like stern judges on the crown. The frame of the roof stood steady. A hand-crank fan waited beside the flue mouth.
Ryan stood in the doorway with Sariel. She had her ledger open. A pencil crossed the page. Murdock leaned on the post, arms folded, soot set into the seams of his hands. Jory stood with a string line and a mason's trowel. Peter jogged up with two empty sacks and bright eyes.
Ryan spoke plain. "Today we turn a one-off into a line," he said. "We want flow. We want safety. We want the same result every time. No luck. No prayer. Work."
Sariel nodded once. "Outline."
"Three things," Ryan said, ticking with his fingers in the air. "First, rotating lye barrels. Three barrels. Three jobs. One leaching. One settling. One in use. Move the signs every morning. Second, heat control. We make the brick ring higher and add a clay lid with a small vent. We build a little baffle so the fire flows under the center of the kettle, not just up the sides. The fan stays slow and even. Third, pre-render tallow cleaner with a water bath and cloth filters, so the kettle cooks faster and smells less. We run one or two more kettles this week. We log egg-float results. We train apprentices on safety and stirring. We adjust superfat to make hand soap kinder."
Murdock lifted a brow. "Closed ring will keep the heat tame," he said. "Good. I don't like soot on my roof just because you like fast soup."
Jory tapped the floor with his trowel. "Lip here," he said, pointing under the barrel stands. "Drain there. If it spills, it stops. Measure twice, cut once."
Ryan pointed to the rule board by the door and read it aloud so nobody could say they did not hear.
Eye-wash pail, clean water, changed each morning. Eyes get water, and lots of it.
Vinegar jug for skin splashes. Never in eyes.
Gloves. Aprons. No bare feet. No hemp cuffs to soak lye.
Lids on the lye barrel. Lye above waist. Dippers hung, not thrown.
No horseplay. If it touches your eyes or skin, shout and move—others help first, blame later.
Children forbidden. Apprentices only with a second person present.
The crank turns slow and even. No spinning to show off.
Murdock snorted. "You do talk like a sergeant," he said. "Good."
Ryan set a quiet line in his head like a clerk stamping a form: Audit note: Choice Mandate — no call. Domain — not open. Today is hands, rules, and time.
They cleared the back wall and rolled in three stout barrels. Jory had already laid short brick stands. Each stand had a lip that tipped into a clay-lined drain pan. He had cut a shallow channel in the floor clay. It ran to the new sump so spills would stop and wait there, not go to the street.
Sariel wrote three placards, big, simple letters:
A — LEACHING
B — SETTLING
C — IN USE
She hung them on hooks above the barrels, then drew arrows in a loop on the wall and wrote: Move one step each day.
Ryan and Peter set up Barrel A. They laid a false bottom of pebbles and clean straw. They poured in hardwood ash from Marn's sacks and tamped it even so water would not make a foolish channel. Jory brought buckets of hot water. Ryan poured the first runnings back over twice. The color turned pale tea. The smell was wet hearth.
He caught the lye in a glazed tub and set an egg in it. The egg sank slow, then floated with a little dome showing. He measured the dome against a coin with his finger. "Short," he said. "Again."
They recirculated once more. Now the egg showed a clean coin-sized dome. "Right bite," Ryan said. "We can still causticise it stronger with lime."
They poured the leach from Barrel A into Barrel B and left it to settle. A milky haze hung in the top third. Fines sank to the bottom. Waiting is part of work.
While Barrel B settled, Ryan turned to heat control. He and Murdock stacked the brick ring two courses higher. Jory set the bricks tight. They set a broad clay lid over the ring with a thumb-sized vent. Ryan built a low brick baffle inside the ring so flame would pass under the center of the kettle before it rose. Even heat was the goal. Not a hot rim and a cold belly.
Murdock oiled the fan shaft and checked the bolts. He spun the blades by hand. The fan hummed low, no whine. He set a second fan in the corner as a spare, a compact twin with the same mount. "Fan one on the flue," he said. "Fan two is spare. We keep both greased. We swap once a week whether you hear noise or not."
Ryan chalked a small box for fan maintenance dates next to the rule board. Boxes turn forget into remember.
By early afternoon, the haze in Barrel B had settled. Ryan ladled the clear top into the clay trough. He slaked quicklime. Water struck CaO. Steam rose. The lime hissed and snapped like hot oil. The slurry turned bright milk. He stirred slow with a long paddle. "Back," he told Peter, and the boy took one step, eyes wide, mouth a line. He respected the sound.
Ryan poured the potash lye into the slaked lime and stirred slow. The mix turned cloudy. Calcium pulled carbonate out as chalk. The water now held the stronger bite he wanted: KOH. He let it settle, then decanted the clearer liquid through cloth into a jar. He set the egg again. The dome rose a hair higher than a coin. He cut it with a little water. "We want clean hands and whole skin, not harsh," he said.
On the far side of the room, the pre-render station took shape. Peter and Ryan set a large pot into a shallow water bath ring so fat would melt gentle, not scorch. They chopped tallow into small chunks, simmered it with water and a pinch of salt, skimmed scum often, then poured the clear fat through a coarse cloth into a clean bucket. The cloth caught flecks of bone and stray hair. Pale fat ran through and shone. They set a board with clean stones on top to press. When it cooled, it would be a cleaner cake. Sariel made a new column in the ledger: FAT — CLEAN FILTERED CAKES. She added: If it stinks, it goes back.
They moved to the kettle. Clean fat in. Low heat. Fan on. Clay lid set with the little vent. Ryan began to add the KOH liquor slow while stirring. He spoke short, clear sentences while he worked.
"Do not rush lye," he said. "Add a ladle. Stir. Wait. Watch. Listen with your arm. When the pull changes, then add more."
Peter watched the surface. He saw the gloss change. He saw a ribbon from the paddle leave a faint line that held for a moment. He smiled.
"Trace," Ryan said. "That is the sign."
Near evening, the kettle thickened. Ryan added a small ladle of warm fat at the end. "Superfat," he said. "For hands." He did not make it sweet talk. He made it a rule.
They filled jars while the paste was warm. Sariel wrote: Kettle 2. Egg float: coin dome. Lime: settled and decanted. Superfat: one small ladle. Fan: greased. Peter: witness. Porter: witness. The porter set his neat signature on the margin. "I've seen it," he said.
Before they left, Ryan drilled them. "Safety drill," he said. "Peter, pretend you get a splash on your arm. Shout. Move."
Peter flicked a spoon of water on his forearm and shouted, "Splash!"
Ryan moved with the vinegar jug. He poured and then had Peter rinse with water again. "Vinegar for skin," he said. "Eyes get water. Only water."
They did a fan jam drill next. "If the fan sticks, we do not panic," Ryan said. "We drop the lid shutter, lower the fire, and swap the spare fan. Peter, take this spanner. Murdock, steady the housing. Sariel, log the time."
They did it slow, then once at working speed. The spare fan went in smooth. They breathed easier. Murdock gave one sharp nod. "You are less fool."
They closed the room, and the flue sent a thin ribbon of clean steam into the evening air. Ryan stood in the lane for a breath, felt cold air settle in his lungs, and then walked away with his people. Audit note: Choice Mandate — no call.
Day 5 — The ledger becomes a habit (process to make soap)
The next morning, the lane held the cold like a bowl holds water. Inside, Sariel checked the eye-wash pail and said, "Changed." She topped the vinegar jug. "Full." Ryan opened a clean page in the ledger and drew boxes. He liked boxes. They make a rhythm when the head is tired. He wrote simple headers that even a hurried apprentice could use.
Barrel A: LEACHING — pours, recirculations, egg dome size, time.
Barrel B: SETTLING — start time, decant time, clarity notes.
Barrel C: IN USE — volume left, next switch day.
Lime: slaking time, hiss duration, settling time.
Kettle: start, trace time, total stir time, superfat.
Fan: greased? yes/no. swap? yes/no.
Safety: eye-wash changed? yes/no; vinegar jug full? yes/no.
Egg float log: draw a circle for the dome; write coin name.
Notes: smell, skin bite, spills.
"Barrel move," Ryan said. They moved the placards.
Yesterday's A became today's B.
Yesterday's B became today's C.
Yesterday's C became today's A.
The wheel turned.
They leached fresh ash in Barrel A, poured hot water, recirculated, and egg-tested. The dome matched the circle drawn yesterday. Sariel marked it: coin dome. The egg log would show if a day ran weak.
They decanted yesterday's Barrel B into jars for today's kettle, leaving fines at the bottom. Ryan slaked lime; the hiss rose sharp. Peter kept time with a small piece of charcoal on the wall. It felt silly to time a hiss, but it trained him to keep his mind on the work.
At the pre-render station, Peter did cleaner work. The fat melted smooth in the water bath. He skimmed often. He poured through cloth into buckets. He set the boards and stones. He cleaned the cloth and hung it to dry. He set a second cloth to use while the first dried. He learned you need two of anything that must be clean at all times. He did not say it with words. He learned it with hands.
Murdock cut small iron hooks and hammered them into the wall in a neat row. Ladles hung. Paddles hung. Hooks keep tools off the floor. Floors hold dirt. Dirt in soap is foolishness.
Jory set a small shelf by the door for the ledger only. He put a lip on it so a bump would not send the book to the floor. "Measure twice," he said, and smiled a little at his own old joke.
They set Kettle 3. Egg dome matched the log. Lime hiss did not surprise. They decanted clear KOH. They stirred. Trace came a little faster today because the fat was cleaner. Ryan tasted a tiny dab and rinsed fast. Less bite than yesterday. He stirred in a small superfat again. He wanted kind, not proud.
Sariel wrote in the log: K3 trace time shorter by one finger of sun. She did not have a clock. She used the line of light on the wall, measured from a nail where yesterday's sun had hit. Her mind made tools.
After they jarred Kettle 3, Ryan gathered the apprentices. Two older boys from the rope-walk had come to learn. They were used to tar and hemp and steady work. They stood straight. Peter stood in front and answered Ryan's short questions.
"What is the first rule?" Ryan said.
"Eye-wash left, water only in eyes," Peter said.
"The second?"
"Vinegar for skin, not eyes."
"The third?"
"Lids on the lye barrel. Dippers hung."
"Good," Ryan said. "Now you teach."
Peter showed the rope-walk boys the egg test. He let them lower the egg and watch the dome. He had them draw the circle in the log. He had them say out loud, "Coin-sized dome is good." He did not show off. He did not laugh. He did not want to be the older boy who made the younger one ashamed. He had seen enough of that in other shops.
In the late afternoon, Ryan and Sariel took two jars from Kettle 2 and 3 to the rope-walk. They handed the foreman a sheet, simple, not fancy.
How to wash hands with soft soap:
Wet hands with warm water.
Take a small scoop.
Rub well. Do not get in eyes.
Rinse with clean water.
Dry with a clean cloth.
If skin stings, rinse again with water, rub a drop of vinegar, then water again.
Do not use on children.
The foreman nodded. "We will try it," he said. "Our wrists are stained with dye and tar. We will see if it helps."
"Tell me the truth," Ryan said. "Good or bad."
The man nodded again. Work towns prefer truth over compliments. Truth shortens days.
They returned to the lane. A dyer woman passed, sniffed, and did not frown. The air held warm fat and a hint of ash, but no sting. She gave a tiny nod. She did not call the Fire Warden. A small nod can be a large gift.
That evening, Ryan wrote a small, firm line to end the page: We used no Authority. We used no Domain. We used hands, rules, and time.
Day 6–7 — The line that holds (process to make soap)
By the sixth day, the labels felt like the names of friends. A was always busy. B was always calm. C was always ready. Apprentices moved the placards without being told. Sariel drew egg circles fast and neat. Peter timed the hiss without missing the start. Jory tapped the brick ring and listened for a hollow place. Murdock ran his thumb over the fan shaft and felt a thin line of grease. The room had a flow. People moved around each other without bumping shoulders. The kettle had a temper you could trust.
Ryan stood back and watched the work move without him for a minute. That was the point of a factory. The work should not be a man's moods. It should be a pattern with hands in it.
They set Kettle 4 at midday. The egg dome on yesterday's leach looked a touch smaller than the circle in the log. Sariel put a coin next to the dome and said, "Short by a sliver."
"Good catch," Ryan said. They recirculated the leach one more time and tested again. The dome matched. The log mattered. Work is not only hands. It is eyes and notes.
They slaked lime, decanted, and stirred. Trace came steady. Ryan adjusted superfat by a small measure less than Day 5. He wanted a baseline, not a string of guesses. He told Peter to mark the superfat amount as little ladle marks on the page. Even a boy who could not read could count marks.
In the afternoon, a rope-walk boy came to the door. His hands were red. He looked shy. "The soap moves the tar," he said, "but it bites here, at the wrists, where the skin is soft."
"Thank you," Ryan said. "We will make a milder jar for hands. Use current jars for tools and rope grease."
He wrote in the log: Day 6 feedback — rope-walk, bite at wrists. Adjust superfat up for HAND jars. He turned to Sariel. "Please write a new rule: Always mark jars HAND or BENCH. No unlabeled jar leaves this room."
She wrote it and underlined it. Underlines carry weight when a room is busy.
Training continued. Ryan taught the stir with a rule. He set a peg and a rope to mark an easy figure eight in the kettle. "Do not stab," he said. "Do not flick. Dip the paddle. Pull a slow eight. Keep the eight even. Watch the surface. Do not come up with a splash. The room keeps score of your splashes." Peter smirked once. He had splashed on the first day and did not like causing extra work. He did not splash now.
They swapped stirrers every ten minutes with a small bell. One boy does not hold one job too long. Bored hands make mistakes. Ryan squeezed purple juice from a cabbage leaf into a bowl (a small trick a neighbor showed him). He dipped a drop of soap on the edge. The color shifted. "This juice is like a flag for sour or bitter," he said. "Our soap is bitter because it is a base. We will not test this way each time, but it is good to know the world leaves signs."
At evening, the dyer woman passed again and breathed shallow. Then she nodded. No sting. Murdock watched the roof line. The smoke rose thin and straight. He touched the doorpost with two knuckles like a quiet blessing. "You keep it neat," he said. "Then I can sleep."
On the morning of Day 7, Ryan let Peter call the steps aloud.
"Move the signs," Peter said. "A to B. B to C. C to A."
They moved them.
"Hot water into A, recirculate twice, egg test," Peter said.
They did it.
"Decant B, slake lime, pour lye into lime, stir slow, settle, decant through cloth."
They did it.
"Pre-render fat. Skim scum. Pour through cloth. Press. Tag. Ledger."
They did it.
"Grease fan. Check bolts. Check flue pull," Peter said.
Murdock did the checks and nodded, a short grunt of approval.
"Eye-wash fresh. Vinegar jug full," Peter said.
Sariel: "Yes."
"Fire low. Kettle warm," Peter said.
Ryan smiled a little. It was not a big grin. It was a small content curve around his mouth and eyes. This was why he did this. Not for profit alone. Not to be clever. For the day when a boy could call order into the world and be right about it.
They ran Kettle 5 before midday. Trace came in a steady time again. The texture matched the last jar. Egg dome matched the log. Sariel set a clear mark on paper collars so even a man in a hurry could see the difference: HAND had two small diagonal nicks on the edge; BENCH had one. She copied the marks to the ledger key.
Murdock asked for a live test. "Swap to the spare fan now," he said. "Prove the swap under load. You trust a thing more after you touch it."
"True," Ryan said. He dropped the lid shutter a finger's width and lowered the fire a hair. He and Murdock loosened bolts, swapped the fan, and tightened them. The flue pull did not die. The smoke did not spill. The kettle surface did not ripple wrong. They brought the fire line back to normal. Peter wrote the time of the swap. Sariel noted: swap test successful.
Late in the day, a boy from the market ran in with a message for Sariel. He stared at the jar shelf and clipped the doorframe with his shoulder. A jar at the edge tipped and fell. It cracked at the foot and a slow paste thread slid to the lip of the shelf and hung there.
The room went still. The boy froze. His eyes filled. He was not hurt. Ryan moved calm. He had Peter gather the paste with a wooden spatula into a waste bucket for BENCH use. He had Sariel mark the jar as wasted and the shelf as cleaned. He handed the boy a cloth and let him wipe his own mess under watch.
"You are not hurt. That is what matters," Ryan said. "Next time, eyes on your feet and the door."
The boy nodded hard, rubbed his eyes on his sleeve, and ran his message. He would look where he walked next time. That was the point. No screaming. No shame. Just rules and a small fix. Murdock watched Ryan and gave a slow nod that meant: you handled it like a man who has been in a shop.
At evening, Sariel opened a clean page and wrote at the top: Week One Summary. She kept the words plain, lines anyone could follow.
Three-barrel rotation built: A leaching, B settling, C in use. Signs moved daily; no confusion after Day 5.
Heat control improved: closed brick ring + clay lid + baffle. Fan greased daily. Spare fan tested on Day 7, working.
Pre-render station built: water bath, cloth filters, press board. Cleaner fat sped trace by one finger of sun.
Kettles run: Kettle 2–5. All reached trace. Jars filled and labeled HAND or BENCH.
Egg-float log kept: domes matched coin circle four times; Day 6 needed extra recirculation.
Superfat adjusted: HAND jars one ladle more than BENCH jars, after rope-walk feedback ("bite at wrists").
Safety: eye-wash changed each morning; vinegar jug kept full; one jar cracked; no injuries; rule board read daily.
Witness: porter signed tags and pages; Murdock watched smoke lines; Jory checked lips and sumps.
Smell complaints: none formal; dyer woman nodded twice; rope-walk said tar moved, wrists better with HAND jar.
She left a small space. Ryan took the pencil and wrote a single line: We used no Authority. We used no Domain. We used hands, rules, and time. The line holds.
He looked around the room. Tools hung on hooks. Cloths dried on a line. The press board held its stones. The ledger sat on its lip-guarded shelf. The barrels stood like three patient cows chewing their cud. The kettle lid shone dull with use. The flue hummed. The air smelled like warm fat and clean clay.
He let his shoulders drop a little. He said, "Good work."
Murdock lifted his chin. "We'll keep it neat."
"Measure twice," Jory said, and this time they all laughed a little because the joke was old and warm now.
Sariel closed the ledger. "Tomorrow the wheel turns the same. First bell."
Peter touched the edge of the rule board with one finger. He did not speak. It was his way to say the rules were his now, too. "I'll come early," he said. "I want to boil water before anyone else comes. I want to be ready."
Ryan looked once at the slice of sky between roofs, the thin steam above the flue, and the quiet lane. He felt the kind of tired that is good. He kept his private audit line. Audit note: Choice Mandate — no call. Domain — not open. Today we used hands, rules, and time.
He pushed the latch, closed the door, and walked out with his people.
What changed in one week
The room had a flow, and the team could run it without Ryan for an hour at a time.
The barrels had names and jobs. The signs moved each morning like clock hands.
The kettle had even heat and a gentler temper. The fan swap had been proven under load.
The ledger was simple and clear. It did not shame. It taught.
Hands knew rules by heart. Peter could call the steps; the rope-walk boys could draw the egg dome circle.
The product was real. HAND jars and BENCH jars sat labeled and dated. The rope-walk had a wash sheet. The dyers had a jar near their water barrel. The smell in the lane did not sting.
Trust grew. Not by big speeches. By small, steady acts that made work safer and cleaner.
What stays true
Soft soap from potash is a paste. It cleans tools now and, with care, hands after rest and with the right superfat. It will never be a hard bar by itself. Hard bars need sodium alkali and weeks of cure. That is a future job.
The rules are simple on purpose. Simple words carry far in a loud room.
The anti-forgery marks are small. Copper hour-tags and twin-notch stamps on sacks. Hidden knurl on paper collars folded inside. A public note each evening. These marks make thieves tired.
No Authority. No Domain. Only people who learn and do the next right act.
By the end of Day 7, the Technologia shop in Frosthaven had a line that could hold. It could show itself to an inspector and not blush. It could be taught to a new boy without a long speech. It could keep the air clean enough that neighbors nodded instead of calling the Warden. It could make soap that cleaned and did not harm much. It could be the first rung on the ladder Ryan had drawn in chalk: soap, alkali, glass, acids, soil. But for now, it was a warm room with a kettle and three barrels and a rule board, and a few people who liked working together.
That was enough for a week.