The late afternoon sun cast long, distorted shadows across the secluded clearing by the pond as Lloyd carefully decanted the last of the precious, correctly concentrated lye solution into a sturdy, stoppered ceramic jug. The air, usually peaceful and smelling of damp earth and willow leaves, now carried a faint, sharp, almost metallic tang – the signature scent of the potent alkali they had painstakingly extracted from simple wood ash. Jasmin stood beside him, wiping her brow with the back of a gloved hand, her dark eyes wide with a mixture of fatigue, lingering apprehension, and undeniable fascination. They had done it. They had created the 'burning water', the hidden fire.
"Alright, Jasmin," Lloyd declared, securing the stopper firmly in the jug. He handled it with deliberate care, reinforcing the respect this substance demanded. "Phase two complete. We have our alkali." He hefted the surprisingly heavy jug. "Now, for the main event. The transformation."
He looked around the tranquil pond setting. Ideal for the slow, messy process of lye extraction, but utterly unsuitable for the next stage. "We can't do the mixing here. We need controlled heat, shelter, and proximity to our primary ingredient." He nodded back towards the distant silhouette of the estate buildings. "Back towards the kitchens. But not in the kitchens."
The last thing he needed was Martha the Head Cook stumbling upon them boiling strange concoctions of fat and caustic liquids, asking pointed questions he couldn't easily answer. Discretion remained paramount.
"There's an old, disused smokehouse behind the east wing storage sheds," Lloyd mused aloud, accessing memories from his first life, recalling explorations driven by teenage boredom. "Solid stone construction, decent ventilation from the old chimney, a cold hearth we can adapt, and importantly, rarely visited." He looked at Jasmin. "Can you guide us there discreetly? Avoiding the main paths?"
Jasmin nodded immediately, her initial timidity resurfacing slightly at the prospect of navigating unseen, but overshadowed by her commitment. "Yes, my lord. I know the back ways, the service paths. We can reach the old smokehouse without drawing attention, especially now as the evening shift change begins." Her knowledge of the estate's underbelly, honed by years of navigating the servant world, was invaluable.
"Excellent." Lloyd handed her one of the lighter, empty buckets they'd used. "Carry this. We'll need it for rinsing later." He carefully lifted the heavy jug of lye solution himself, cradling it securely. "Lead the way, Agent J," he murmured with a hint of wry humor, using the nickname he'd mentally assigned her.
Jasmin blinked at the unfamiliar title but understood the implied trust. She nodded again, a flicker of determination in her eyes, and set off at a brisk pace, leading him away from the pond, down narrow, overgrown paths weaving between neglected shrubbery and the high outer walls of the kitchen gardens. Lloyd followed, matching her pace, the weight of the lye jug a tangible reminder of the potential – and the danger – he carried.
The old smokehouse stood exactly as Lloyd remembered: a squat, windowless structure of soot-stained stone, nestled behind overflowing woodpiles and forgotten gardening tools. A heavy wooden door, warped and weathered, hung slightly askew on rusted hinges. The air inside smelled faintly of decades-old woodsmoke, damp earth, and neglect. A thick layer of dust coated everything, undisturbed for years. Perfect.
"Right," Lloyd said, setting the lye jug down carefully on the dusty stone floor. "First, we need equipment."
Their next hour was a whirlwind of discreet scavenging and improvisation. Under Lloyd's direction, Jasmin slipped away and returned with items 'borrowed' from the kitchen's outer storage or less-used sections: a large, heavy-bottomed iron cauldron usually reserved for boiling laundry or rendering lard (thoroughly scrubbed clean under Lloyd's supervision using sand and water), two long, sturdy wooden paddles normally used for stirring vats of stew, several smaller earthenware bowls for measuring, and thick leather aprons to supplement their gloves. Lloyd himself located some relatively clean sacking to lay on the floor and procured flint and steel, along with a small bundle of dry kindling and larger logs from the nearby woodpile to build a controlled fire in the smokehouse's cold, stone hearth.
He also had Jasmin retrieve one of the large jars of rendered tallow she had prepared, lugging the heavy container back to their makeshift laboratory.
As Lloyd coaxed a small, steady fire to life in the hearth, carefully arranging the logs to provide consistent, moderate heat, he took a moment to brief Jasmin again, his tone serious.