Olan Thorensen - Cast Under an Alien Sun

Dyfeld stopped and, with the hand missing the third finger, pulled over the sketch of the house. “I’ll have suggestions on the house design after we’ve talked more about the features you want.”

Dyfeld Fuller’s speed and efficiency caught Yozef by surprise when, eight days later, a wagon holding twenty sacks of crushed murvor guano waited at the distillation shop. No arrangements for testing on farms had been made. He knew nothing about how much was needed per acre. He did remember Julie chastising him for giving one of her orchids too much plant food, something about excess nitrogen burning the leaves. Different terrain might also vary the amount of fertilizer needed.

There was also the problem of the seasons. He worried about the cooler weather after the Harvest Festival and whether he’d have to wait months for the next growing season to begin, but Dyfeld said no.

“The main crops won’t go in for another three or four months, although there are always cool weather crops some farms plant. My brother used to farm until his death, and he’d plant crops that grew until the weather got too cold and then sit dormant until temperatures were warmer to finish growing and maturing. And it depends on the farm. If the location is right, it’s possible to grow something year round. I’m not sure what’s growing now, but check with the local farmers.”

Yozef set Cadwulf to the task of contacting farmers to see whether any were interested. Not unexpectedly, few were, with variations on the same themes.

“Murvor shit on my fields? Nonsense!”

“My family has always farmed the same way for generations. There’s no reason to change.”

“Are you a farmer? I didn’t think so. Who are you to advise us how to grow crops?”

“Why would I want to increase yields? We are having trouble selling or using the crops we already get before they spoil.”

It was the latter excuse that led to the solution. If farmers were having difficulty selling their crops, they could be paid to carry out Yozef’s experiments. However, the attitudes of many farmers worried him. Could he trust them to do what was necessary to validate the tests? He needed a farm that followed directions and kept accurate records, and he’d need to check progress and compliance, either doing the checking himself or training someone to do it.

“What about that farm woman you told me about at the festival?” said Yozef. “A widow owning and running a medium-sized and productive farm.”

“Who? I don’t … oh, wait. You mean Bronwyn Linton? The one who eyed you?”

“I don’t know that she eyed me.”

“She did. And if I recall, there was eyeing in return.” Cadwulf’s face took on a leer. “Are you sure it’s only to test your fertilizer that makes you suggest her? Maybe some other fertilization occurs to you?”

Yozef flushed. “Nonsense. I’m just trying to find farmers who will work with me.”

His young associate and friend relented with the teasing. “You may be right about her being easier to work with. Her reputation is that she’s practical, works hard herself, demands the same of her workers, and is fair and honest.”

The next day they rode the ten miles to the Linton farm, located on a river valley bottom. The farm had dark soil, and lush foliage separated fields of crops. Yozef’s nose pulled in rich odors of damp soil and growth. Newly planted fields had sprouts of a grassy crop and other fields with broader leafed plants. Cadwulf recognized winter wheat and turnips. The fields appeared well tended, the fences and several out-buildings in good repair, and the farm house had been painted in the not-too-distant past. A middle-aged man came out of a barn as they rode up.

“Good day, Ser,” said Cadwulf. “I’m Cadwulf Beynom and this is Yozef Kolsko. We’re here to talk with Bronwyn Linton.”

“She’s in the north field,” the man answered, walking away with evidently no intention of either going for Linton or telling them the location of the north field.

Cadwulf wasn’t perturbed and called to the man’s back.

“If you could direct us to where she is, we would be appreciative.”

The answer was a jerk of his head, presumably meaning the field was in that direction.

Cadwulf thanked him more than Yozef thought deserving. He had to keep reminding himself that people weren’t so much rude as brusque—a reasonably neutral brusqueness and not the abrasiveness of some New Yorkers or the deliberate, feigned superiority of the French.

They tied their horses to a rail in front of the house and walked in the indicated direction. Sure enough, when they got around the house, they could see a figure in a field, plucking wheat shoots from the ground, chewing on them, and then spitting them out and moving on.

“She’s checking for moisture in the leaves,” said Cadwulf. Yozef didn’t know why that was important and didn’t ask.

When the woman saw them, she gave a slight wave and moved to where they waited just off the field. As she got closer, Yozef recognized the woman from the fair, dressed more workmanlike today. His previous impression was stocky, bordering on plump, but perhaps it had been the clothes. Sturdy she was, but without much excess weight, probably attributable to regular farm work. Her face and arms were browned from the sun. She’d wrinkle before forty, given this much tanning. Her bare arms looked strong, as did what he could see of her legs, as her skirt swirled around her calves. But of her femininity, there was no doubt. The curve of hips below her waist and swells under her top-shirt made that clear. Her brown hair was braided into a bun, and a straw farmer’s hat provided shade to her face.

“Ser Beynom, welcome to my farm.” Though she addressed Cadwulf, her eyes never left Yozef. “And I take it this is the mysterious Yozef Kolsko whom everyone talks about.” She smiled.

“Guilty as charged, Sen Linton,” said Yozef, smiling back.

Her eyebrows rose at his offhand remark, then she looked at Cadwulf. “And to what do I owe your visit?”

In the next half hour, Yozef described his interest in running test plots with the powdered guano fertilizer and what he hoped to find out about efficacy and application amounts. Sen Linton quickly agreed with the potential but confirmed no immediate advantage to increased yields.

“I already use about half of my crops for animal feed. The other half I sell for island consumption at lower prices than before.”

“I noticed there were more cattle and horses than I expected as we rode in today,” Yozef remarked. “I thought you only farmed crops.”

“Normally, yes,” said Linton. “But since the crops don’t keep that long, I’m raising more animals than usual, since they keep longer. Many farmers are doing the same.”

A longer shelf-life. Yozef approved. Very smart and thinking long term .

“There’s no problem with helping you with your tests of this new fertilizer, Ser Kolsko. We already spread manure on the fields, but there’s never enough. Having another fertilizer source would be useful, if this idea of yours works. As for your paying me to do these tests, what if instead we agree that should the fertilizer work as well as you think, and if the conditions for selling improve in the future, that you’ll sell me all the fertilizer I need at half the going price?”

Yozef was about to say, “Done deal,” when Cadwulf jumped in.

“Half price for how long, Sen Linton? Surely not indefinitely. Shall we say for five years?”

Her eyes glinted, and the corners of her mouth suggested good humor. “Five years hardly makes it worth my time. I couldn’t possibly agree for less than twenty years.”