"When we carefully combine the right amount of heated fat with the right strength of this ash-water," he drew the circle attaching to the chain, breaking it, "a wonderful reaction happens. A transformation. The ash-water breaks down the fat molecules. It rearranges them. Creates something entirely new." He smoothed the dirt. "It creates soap – special particles that have one end that loves water and another end that loves grease. That's how soap cleans, by grabbing the grease and letting the water wash it away. And," he added significantly, "it also creates glycerin, a natural softener that makes the final product gentle, not harsh. Well, you know what it is? A simple dimple Soap."
He looked at Jasmin, gauging her understanding. Her eyes were wide, not just with confusion now, but with dawning wonder.
"You… you are making soap, my lord?" she breathed, the pieces clicking into place. The tallow, the mysterious ash-water… it was all for soap? "Not buying it, but… creating it? From ash and fat?"
"Precisely," Lloyd confirmed. "But not the harsh stuff used for scrubbing floors or tanning hides. We're aiming higher. Gentle soap. Luxurious soap. Soap fit for a Duchess… or perhaps even," he added with a wry internal smile, "an Ice Princess wife who looks perpetually displeased with the state of the world."
Jasmin stared at him, then at the slowly dripping bucket containing the potent ash-water, then back at him, awe shining in her eyes. The Young Lord wasn't just knowledgeable about court matters or fighting; he understood the hidden connections between things, the secret ways to transform simple, even dangerous, substances like ash-water and common fat into something refined, valuable, useful.
"My lord," she whispered, shaking her head slightly in disbelief. "You… you possess such incredible knowledge. About… about many thing." The praise was heartfelt, bordering on worshipful. It wasn't just about soap anymore; it was about witnessing a mind that saw possibilities where others saw only waste.
Lloyd simply smiled, turning back to the dripping bucket. Knowledge was power, yes. But right now, this slowly accumulating, potentially caustic liquid felt more immediately valuable than any bookish theory. He had the fat, he had the means to create the alkali. The soap empire, however small and rustic its beginnings, was officially under construction.
—-
The patient dripping continued, echoing softly in the quiet sanctuary by the pond. Hours passed under the dappled sunlight filtering through the weeping willow leaves. Lloyd and Jasmin worked steadily, collecting the brownish, potent liquid – the lye solution – as it slowly seeped through the beds of hardwood ash. They refilled the top buckets with fresh pond water, carefully managing the flow, their initial awkwardness replaced by a shared rhythm of focused labor. Jasmin, despite her initial bewilderment, proved a quick study, her natural dexterity translating surprisingly well from butchery knives to managing buckets and monitoring dripping rates.
Lloyd watched the accumulating liquid in the collection buckets, his brow furrowed in concentration. "Alright, Jasmin," he finally declared, straightening up and wiping a smear of grey ash from his cheek. "We have a decent volume now. But quantity isn't enough. We need the right strength."
He gestured towards the murky lye solution. "This 'hidden fire' within the ash-water… it needs to be potent enough to properly transform the fat. Too weak, and the reaction won't complete, leaving us with greasy sludge instead of soap. Too strong, and we risk having unreacted, caustic lye left in the final product, which would be harsh, even dangerous, on the skin."
Jasmin nodded solemnly, absorbing the information. "So how… how do we know if it's the right strength, my lord?" she asked, her curiosity piqued again. "It just looks like dirty water."
"Ah," Lloyd smiled, reaching into a small pouch at his belt. "For that, we rely on a simple, time-tested method. One often used by old wives and traditional soap makers." He produced his secret weapon: a fresh, ordinary chicken egg.
Jasmin blinked. "An egg, my lord?"
"Precisely," Lloyd confirmed. "Nature provides its own measuring tools, sometimes. Watch." He carefully took one of the collection buckets, swirling the brownish lye solution gently. Then, with utmost care, he slowly lowered the raw egg into the liquid.
They both watched intently. The egg sank straight to the bottom of the bucket like a stone.