“This is so neat!”
“Please stop saying that,” groaned Ket, flitting over to see what had me so excited. She rolled her eyes when she read the description of the new mushrooms. “You couldn’t have focused on something more useful?”
“Finger flingers are useful!” I protested.
The sprite wanted me to have the botanists focus on adapting the broilcups instead. The large bowl-like mushrooms were pretty unwieldy, and Ket had suggested we create much smaller versions that could be dropped inside a cooking pot and then fished out afterward. It made sense, and I definitely would have them work on that at some point.
For now, though, there were just so many more interesting options, especially with Swift and Cheer bringing back new and increasingly exotic samples the further into the forest we traveled.
The pair had shown an affinity with fungi since their earliest scouting expeditions. Ket suggested it was because the scavengers had the social skills of a toadstool and recognized the mushrooms as kindred spirits. I countered by asking if she was saying Swift and Cheer were ‘fun guys’. She didn’t talk to me for the rest of the day.
Recalling an old incident with a puffball mushroom, I elected to set a guard on the botanists’ carts at all times. One thing we definitely didn’t need was the children getting their hands on our explosive new toys.
Something had been bothering me about the children, beside the usual fact of them being loud and annoying. I eventually realized it was that they were still just that: children. We’d been traveling for almost three weeks; that was usually more than enough time for a gnome to have grown to maturity, especially those who’d started the journey as older children. But they’d barely grown at all.
“Of course they haven’t,” said Ket when I raised the issue with her. “The only reason they grew up so fast before was the creche.”
Of course. It was obvious now she’d pointed it out. The creche had accelerated my denizens’ maturation so that they’d reached adulthood in just a handful of days. Without it, they were growing at their natural rate—still much faster than larger species, but much, much slower than I’d become accustomed to.
The circular structure had also accelerated the gestation period for pregnant gnomes. Those currently with child were stuck that way for a much longer period than they would have been with the creche nearby. They seemed not to mind so much, thankfully; the big-bellied female gnomes went about their tasks as usual, only occasionally taking turns to rest on the wagons despite the addition of more draft animals providing more opportunities for them to do so.
The children’s immaturity was clearly starting to wear on the rest of my denizens; with the exception of Pan, who always seemed perfectly content doing her own thing, they required constant management. When they weren’t getting underfoot or begging for treats or attempting to climb the warriors so they could ride on their shoulders, the children were generally being a pain in everyone’s backside—especially those whose bedrolls they laced with brambles.
Coll pointed out that part of the reason for this was that the children spent the day’s march riding on the wagons. This had been to keep them safe, to stop them getting left behind, but it was definitely contributing to them ending the day with pent-up energy and boredom—the worst possible combination for a child without the outlet of entertainment and a safe area in which to run around and play freely. They’d had toys and games to keep them busy during the ride, of course, but the novelty had understandably worn off by now.
Since my avatar was the only one who could truly keep them in line—except Nails and Emrys, who were both occupied with their role as group leader—I set Ris’kin the task of solving this particular problem. Instead of pranks and arguments and fitful napping, my avatar filled their days with activities. These mainly seemed to involve bringing her pointless items like sticks and rocks, then going off to put them back, though she also held running races alongside the convoy. Instead of whining and arguing at the nurses’ tired reprimands, each day’s march was now accompanied by competitive shouts and hysterical giggles, as well as outraged wails when my avatar almost-but-not-quite let them win.
When we made camp in the evenings, rather than getting underfoot, the children were practically asleep on their feet—though they perked up whenever Sir Fura the squirrel tossed kernels from his nut stash at the emberfox, making popcorn which the badgers barged in and promptly snaffled.
The dire badgers’ injuries were healing nicely, though they’d bear the scars forever.The sight of their pinkish acid-burns gave me another idea. I switched to the Augmentary’s armory tab and quickly found what I was looking for: mount armor. However, the option to select it was grayed out. I’d expected it; the Augmentary had foiled my plans on many occasions with its arbitrary requirements, but it was still annoying.
“Why do we need stables to be able to craft armor?” I’d complained to myself. “Surely just having the animals is enough!”
Apparently unfamiliar with the concept of rhetorical questions, Bekkit had replied, “The Augmentary does not ‘register’ an animal as a mount unless it has officially been assigned to a building of the ‘stable’ class. The universe—”
“Works in mysterious ways, yeah.”
Still, it was nothing a bit of Divine Inspiration couldn’t fix. We subsequently spent a rather enjoyable evening watching Gneil and the acolytes attempt to demonstrate the concept of badger armor. The extremely patient Helga stood placidly while the gnomes alternately wrapped her in various materials and balanced things on her head and back. After a while I suspected the armorers were deliberately playing dumb so as to extend the charade. They’d drawn quite a crowd, and morale seemed high, so I was happy to oblige.
I sensed Gneil was, too, though
