The midday sun scorched the narrow streets of Godfrey's Cross as we gathered in the soap workshop's backyard. The air was heavy, humid, and reeked of decay. Ever since morning, one thought had kept gnawing at me, Mnex's unsettling remark: "The soap waste… maybe, just maybe, it could save us."
Now, staring at the foul pits enclosed by stone walls, salvation looked anything but noble.
Three workers leaned on their shovels, their faces twisted with reluctance. One of them muttered, trying to cover his nose.
"Master, the dam collapsed this morning. And now we're supposed to put our faith in ashes?"
I turned sharply. "These ashes, this waste, this could be the missing piece. We've already learned that sand, gravel, and lime alone won't hold. We need a binder. And here it is."
As the shovels dug into the ground, heavy gray-white clumps surfaced. Among the ashes lay soap residue, lumps of burned oil, and charred stones. Each scoop filled the air with a pungent mix of soap and scorched grease, drawing grimaces from the men. Theo pinched his nose, grumbling as he stepped closer.
"If this ever makes it into the city's history books, trust me, nobody's calling us heroes."
"If it works, they'll call us heroes," I replied. "If it doesn't… well, none of us will live long enough to care."
Mnex chuckled mockingly in my head.
"How poetic. Building civilization on soap scum. Let's hope you don't go down as the first culture to parody the Stone Age."
I ignored him. Workers began hauling the waste into barrels by the pit's edge. The sun blazed overhead like a branding iron, while steam and stench rose from the barrels, thickening the air. Gareth came over, sweat rolling down his brow.
"You really mean to mix this into the concrete?"
I could read the doubt in his eyes. The morning's failure, when our mix had crumbled in front of everyone, still lingered. Whispers spread among the workers: "The wall collapsed… our efforts wasted… this new attempt will fall apart too."
A sharp clang broke the silence as a shovel struck something hard. One of the men bent down and pulled out a blackened stone from beneath the ashes. Its surface was streaked with hardened white crust, almost like soap foam. I took it, turned it over, and saw thin, glassy veins glimmering faintly.
Mnex let out a low whistle.
"There it is, sodium silicate veins. Look at that shine. This might actually work. Years of fire, soap, and time have brewed the right kind of ash."
The workers exchanged uneasy glances, but they saw the same shimmer I did. That glint alone shifted the mood. The grumbling softened.
"Keep going," I ordered. "The more we gather, the stronger our mix will be."
Shovels dug again. By the time the sun had slid westward, the barrels brimmed with waste and ash. I brushed the gray powder from my hands, still haunted by the memory of the morning's watery slurry. Shame burned in me. But this new material, this was different. It carried hope.
Theo came close, muttering, "And if it fails too?"
"Then it fails," I said, narrowing my eyes. "But if it works… we won't just reinforce the banks. We'll be inventing a better kind of cement, a safeguard for the city's future, and a turning point for every building that comes after."
Something stirred in the workers. Some stopped grumbling altogether. Their shovels moved faster. They weren't just shoveling filth anymore, they were digging for a chance.
By the time the carts hauled the barrels to the riverbank, the sun had climbed past its peak. The air was stifling, wagon wheels creaked, draft animals snorted impatiently, and the stench of soap-ash clung to everything like a curse. Yet in the workers' eyes, the despair from the morning collapse had shifted into a restless curiosity.
The first barrel was cracked open beside the mixer. A heavy plume of smoke rose as the gray ash, studded with greasy lumps, spilled out. One of the foremen gagged behind his hand.
"We're either making cement… or something that smells awful."
Gareth shot him a hard glare. "Doesn't matter what it smells like. If it binds, the riverbank holds."
"And if it doesn't?" another man muttered.
"It will," I said firmly. I buried my own doubts beneath that voice.
Mnex snickered in my head. "Progress, ladies and gentlemen, history's greatest inventions always start with smoke and a bad smell."
The shovels moved again. Ash clattered into the rotating cylinder. I felt the mana pulsing through the etched runes as the rings began to turn. Sand, gravel, lime, and now ash, tumbled together with a low, steady hum.
Mnex's dry voice drifted through my head.
"Congratulations, you're producing the most expensive batch of soap foam in history. Let's hope it doesn't pop."
Doyle edged closer, whispering. "Do you truly believe this will work? This garbage?"
I locked eyes with him. "This morning we learned what we were missing. Now we've found it. Tomorrow, people may remember this day."
Buckets of the new mix were hauled out and poured into fresh molds beside the collapsed section. Wooden frames braced with beams stood ready, and the workers strained as they dumped the heavy gray slurry. This time, the surface settled thicker, denser.
The foreman crouched down, scooping a lump in his palm. He kneaded it, eyes widening. "It's not like yesterday's. It clings. Doesn't fall apart."
Murmurs spread quickly, but this time they carried something warmer than doubt. Stones were stacked, gaps filled, every pour raising the wall bit by bit.
Theo stood with his hands on his hips, the faintest smile tugging at his lips. "Feels like… this one might actually hold." Watching him, it was obvious he loved this city, maybe more than anyone.
"It will," I said through clenched teeth. "This time, it will."
By the time the sun leaned westward, the first pour was done. The molds stood filled, the wet concrete rising solidly within them. No sagging, no collapse. Workers circled the frames, some pressing their fingers against the surface, others sniffing the faint, soapy tang with wrinkled noses. None of them looked as hopeless as they had this morning.
"Well, well. Maybe your 'modern engineering' isn't a total trainwreck. You're writing history with soap scum, Henry. If this holds, they'll name it after you, Henriment. Rolls right off the tongue, doesn't it?"
"Shut it," I muttered, but couldn't stop the small smile tugging at my mouth.
Theo's voice rang out. "Everyone step back! The molds stay untouched until morning. Guards will stand watch. If even a child comes near, chase them off!"
Soldiers slammed their spears against the ground in agreement. The workers, weary but hopeful, dispersed into the cooling evening. I lingered, staring at the gray surface rising along the riverbank. For the first time in days, I felt something real. Not just labor, hope.
The following days blurred with toil. At dawn the workers descended to the river, and at dusk they dragged their bodies home. The new mixture, ash and soap waste blended into the usual lime, sand, and gravel, held firm. The walls did not collapse. Instead, each day they hardened more, the gray slowly whitening as it cured. And with that color shift, hope too began to solidify.
By the third day, the dam's body stood tall again. The wooden and stone skeleton was packed tight with soap-mixed concrete, smoothed along the surface. Water flow to the old river branch dwindled, while the main river pressed harder against the barrier, a deep rumble in its belly.
But I wasn't satisfied. "It's not enough," I told Theo. "The river doesn't always stay level. A flood could turn this dam from savior to executioner."
Theo frowned. "Then what do you propose?"
"A gate," I said at once. "Something that opens on its own when the water rises."
Mnex cut in immediately.
"Automatic, hands-free? Finally, something resembling cleverness."
I gathered the carpenters and blacksmiths, laying out the plan. At the dam's center, a sturdy wooden gate would be set into place, fixed to a shaft and gear system. The gears would link to a simple lever that measured water level. When the river swelled beyond a set height, the lever's weight would tilt, turning the gears, forcing the gate open. Excess water would spill harmlessly into the old river branch, leaving the main dam safe.
The workers looked skeptical. Mnex, of course, couldn't resist a jab.
"At least this is more realistic than playing Moses with the river. Worth a try, I suppose."
On the fourth day, the pieces came together. The carpenters sealed the gate in place, the blacksmiths fitted the gears. At last, we stood by to test it. The workers built a makeshift dam upstream. The current pushed higher, the lever tipped, and with a groan of wood and iron, the gate creaked open.
Water foamed through the old river branch in a sudden rush. Gareth's lips curved into a grin.
"It works. Maybe this time, we've truly done it."
I stayed cautious. "It has to work. Otherwise, we're gambling with the whole city."
When the dam's body was finally complete, the workers cheered as if a festival had begun. Pride lit their worn faces. Only one detail remained, nature's balance. For the fish, we left a low threshold along the bank, a path for them to return once the waters dropped.
By sunset, the dam stood tall against the current. Stone, timber, concrete, and thought woven together, a monument not just to survival, but to progress.
Mnex grumbled one last time.
"So it stands. But remember, Henry, water is patient. More patient than people. One day it will rise again… and we'll see if your precious gates are enough."
I stared at the torrent battering the structure, its roar echoing in my chest. He was right, we couldn't stop the river forever. But we could bargain with it, guide it, turn its strength into ours. And today, for the first time, we had won that bargain.