The Hand We're Dealt - Chapter 5

“-and what is most important, when cleaning, is to use a mixture of salt in the water. I do not care if you use magic to remove stains or lingering filth as some masters do. They have said it builds character in their apprentices to do it all by hand. I say it wastes time,” my Master huffed and waved a hand about dismissively. “The true issue at hand is that one must rinse any and all surfaces upon which you have used any sort of cleansing magic with salt and water, two of the most purifying elements known.”

I nodded attentively. “Yes sir.”

He looked over at me and snorted. “You have a question. Speak it.”

“Why salt and water? What properties make them purifying elements?” I asked instantly.

“Salt is well-known for its conceptual link to preservation of flesh and food, back even unto the ancient Egyptians who used it in preparation for mummification rituals. It prohibits the growth of fungus and, in high concentrations, wards off pestilence. It is also used in several religious sanctification applications, due to the aforementioned qualities. The fact that it is valuable is also a source of conceptual linkage to 'pure' properties, such as those of gold or silver. While the former is the superior metal for these purposes, both are well-known to be heavily resistant to rust and decay, unlike base iron.”

As the old man spoke, he moved about the lecture hall, busying himself with setting up things for his next lesson. As it turned out my master was, of all things, a professor of history. Even if some of his methodology and historiography was a little archaic to my sensibilities, listening to the man talk was actually quite enthralling.

“Does not silver tarnish, sir?” I asked as he paused for breath.

The academic gave me a withering look for speaking out of turn, but nodded. “Tarnish, yes, but not disintegrate into powder when left exposed to the elements. Looked upon metaphysically, silver has the gift of concentrating uncleanliness upon itself, but not being corrupted by it. That is a useful property in many workings. Gold, though, is superior in being unburdened by the collection of filth. Still, we digress. The other element you asked of is that of water. This is a conditionally cleansing element. It, much like silver, has the property to absorb grime and soot while at the same time removing it from other substances. It is well-known as the most attainable 'universal solvent' short of the legendary alkahest spoken of by Paracelsus and van Helmont.”

I scribbled down more notes, specifically regarding the term 'alkahest.' I'd never been one for Renaissance history in particular and the word definitely smacked of that period, if likely not in Italy itself.

“Clean water, therefore, is an element of purification. Fetid water is not, obviously,” he sent me a cutting glance as if he was loath to even mention the differentiation, but had to lower himself to the basics of basics to satisfy an unlearned student. “However, the amount of water necessary to fully remove even the most simple of residual energies when performing magics is in excess of a small river, even if the quality of flowing water would make it more effective than standing water. Therefore, you will mix together two elements of purification and use the combination to cleanse surfaces of any traces of other magics which might contaminate new work done upon it.”

As he finished, the clack of a cane brought my gaze up from my notes to find the old man looking down upon me in a particularly grave and terrible mood. “Failure to do as instructed will mean I take the time and materials I have wasted out on your hide, boy. If you cannot listen to my words, you will learn from the bite of my cane.”

“Of course sir. Even if I use cleaning magic, I'll make sure to wash down everything with salt water.” I promised firmly.

The old man huffed again and turned away, not bothering to give a true reply.

Besides, it wasn't a particularly onerous promise to keep. If anything, it was a relief to do so. I'd long been the odd duck at the orphanage for holding the building and the younger children to a higher standard of cleanliness than the matron herself.

A lifetime of cleaning up after tenants will do that to a person.

It also probably helped that I hadn't quite lost a few personality quirks from my previous life. One of which was a mild cleaning-subtype of OCD. There was a common misconception that everyone with obsessive-compulsive disorder manifested a... well, obsessive need for cleanliness. That simply wasn't true, but there was some truth to the assumption. A specific subset of people with the condition found cleaning and organizing relaxing and reassuring in a way the larger part of the human population just didn't. Admittedly, it wasn't always a positive thing. I'd heard and seen cases where the compulsive need for order and cleanliness manifested in behavior that bordered on the neurotic.

I was 'lucky' enough to simply need an adequately neat and tidy environment to concentrate in.

So while there was some nasty shit out there, as long as I could reliably get myself clean after dealing with it I generally didn't mind getting down and dirty to do it. Not at all. I think it had honestly weirded out the orphanage matron just a little bit to see a child who would volunteer to do the dishes and help with the laundry. Mind you, though, pre-industrial revolution cleaning techniques (like much of the time period) sucked ass. Cleaning things, like my recent musings on clean clothes, was difficult and time-consuming in a way that people from my era would balk at if they truly understood.

But!

I had magic.

I had cleaning magic.

Yes, this is what I was most excited about. I'm an incredibly boring and practical person sometimes, I know. I won't apologize.

“You must also use freshly-drawn well water or water from upstream Connecticut River, before it is defiled with the refuse of the town. Using muddy water sourced from ponds or pools and magically-cleansed using spellwork will only serve to coat the area with a different kind of magical residue.” Marteen cautioned, his tone still serious and brokering no disagreement. “Even if it were to look clean, doing so would be just like using muck to mop a dirty floor. You would only serve to make a bigger mess of things, of which the punishment would be the same.”

“Yes Master,” I replied obediently. That was... slightly disappointing, but I couldn't expect everything to be easy, even with access to magic. Still, perhaps I could...

“I warn you because I have often heard stories of apprentices being entirely too clever for their own good,” Professor van Beek growled, walking to the other side of the room and hitting his cane heavily with each step. “Normally such warnings would wait until you have been taught spellwork to clean water, but with your Sacred Gear I cannot easily discount the notion that you would attempt to find some clever work-around.”

I kept my face utterly blank as I replied, tacitly denying that I'd just been theorizing on that very subject. “Yes, Master.”

The older man scoffed. “You will do things as I instruct, boy. If you think yourself smart enough to make your work easier, you will bring your solution to me before attempting it. Until then, obey my directions or I will tan your hide until you learn to.”

“Of course, sir,” I said obediently.

My ears perked up as I heard the sound of people beginning to gather in the hall.

“Of course,” he replied back lowly, mockingly. “Continuing the lesson on ritual purification, but broadening the scope of it, there are two metals, two minerals, and two liquids that are the most common substances used. We have covered silver and gold as the metals. One of the minerals is salt. One of the liquids is water. You are to use the books in my library and your Gear to discover the remainder.”

“Yes sir,” I replied, beginning to gather my things instinctually. A lifetime's worth of schooling was informative about teachers' habits, such as assigning homework when class was nearly over.

“Go now, and tell the laggards they may enter,” Marteen dismissed. “I expect the common areas of the house to be clean when I return and for you to have an answer for me. Use the techniques I have instructed you of. If you do a passable job, I will allow you to begin working on my laboratory.”

“Yes, Master,” I stated, hopping to obey as I rose with my packed satchel and moved towards the door.

Opening it to find a mixed group of older 'teens,' not that the word would mean anything to people of this period, and younger twenty-somethings, the group turned to stare at me in what was obviously surprise.

“Professor van Beek will start class shortly,” I informed them, holding myself straight and still for a moment before nodding. “Good day.”

Then I turned and left as muttering filled the hall behind me.

Technically, it would be easier and faster for me to go through the group instead of taking the scenic route back to the Professor's cottage, but I'd long-since internalized the lesson that a young child was ill-equipped to deal with the press of larger bodies.

“Hey, wait up!”

I grimaced as someone called out to me, not slowing my habitual power-walk I'd begun internalizing to keep up with the old man. He wasn't one for 'dawdling' after all, and woe be unto the person who made him late. Even with the limp and the cane, he could set a brisk pace. A child's stride needed to be especially fast to keep apace.

I sighed minutely as the jogging figure caught up with me. He was wearing clean clothing, if somewhat rumpled and wrinkled. Like the other ones in the group, he was young. At a guess, I'd say he was on the younger side of eighteen, even.

Though, again, that didn't really mean anything in this day and age, truly. As much as 'age is just a number' set off alarm bells in twenty-first century society, here and now adulthood was very much not constrained to a mostly-arbitrary age. Oh, sure, there were some things that required a set amount of yearly benchmarks to have been met, mostly around entering into legal agreements or voting, but even those were... kind of fuzzy, given the state of documentation these days.

“You should be in class. The Professor locks the door when he starts the lecture,” I warned the older boy, who chuckled and combed a hand through his messy black hair.

“Ah, I was just walking with a few friends. I'm not in Old Dutch's class,” he replied, clearly looking me over. “So, what? You his grandkid or something? Didn't think the old bastard had any family left.”

A scowl threatened to crawl over my face. By his gregarious and casual air, I could guess that he likely hadn't meant anything by it, but those kinds of comments struck me as unthinkingly cruel and rubbed me the wrong way.

Still, the best way to give offense and make unnecessary trouble was to act rude in kind to someone who didn't mean it. They were, after all, the kinds of people who could begin to mean it much more harshly if pressed.

“Professor van Beek needs an assistant to help manage his affairs,” I replied neutrally. “Adopting an orphan was cheaper than hiring someone.”

The older boy barked a laugh, throwing his head back briefly, and gave me a grin. “Hah! You're alright, kid. What's your name? I'm Hector. Hector Vaughn.”

 “Henry Bell,” I replied shortly, then turned to an exterior door and gripped the handle. “I'm sorry to cut things short, Mr. Vaughn, but I have chores to see to and the Professor does not take well to indolence.”

Hector chuffed a laugh and reached out to ruffle my hair. “Wordy little kid, aintcha? Eh, don't worry about it. As long as Old Dutch doesn't toss ya', I'll see ya' around. I've got a class ta' get to anyway.”

I took a breath to steel myself and released it in a controlled sigh before fixing my hair and making my way outside.

Things had warmed up a bit, thankfully. It was still too cold for my southern sensibilities, but temperatures in the seventies were nice enough and, without air conditioning, honestly preferable.

The Dartmouth campus spread out before me as I kept walking back towards the part of the area that held the small private homes of some staff and teachers. There were dorms of course, for the students, but some of them lived in the nearby village of Hanover. Likewise, the personnel of the college were a mix of village residents, those who lived on the campus in standalone buildings, and a final set who preferred (or weren't in a position to refuse) accommodations at the college itself.

Contrary to what I was used to when someone said 'college,' the Dartmouth of the early eighteen-hundreds was six or seven large buildings on a large, cleared green mostly surrounded by woodland and low mountains in the distance. Even then, though, almost everything related to actual learning took place in the main building, which I'd come to understand people referred to simply as 'the college,' which apparently predated the American Revolution.

Which was, again, odd for me. Distinctly so, really.

The wooden building I'd just exited predated the country I'd been born into, and it was a very strange feeling living in a political environment that felt so young and... well, innocent.

Oh, that's not to say it was all copacetic.

Even as I was making my way across the green, I overheard a group of students taking in an early morning game of cricket.

“-but he's guilty as sin, you have to agree!” One of them stated as he hefted the bat and stepped up to the plate.

The hurler shook his head. “Look Jones, I don't give a damn, really. I just don't think they've got enough evidence to convict. You've read the constitution, same as I have. Treason is a hell of a difficult charge to meet.”

“Oh, come off it! He shot and killed Hamilton! The man's scum, plain and simple!” The... batter? What did you call someone batting in cricket? Ugh... sports.

“And he's not on trial for that! No one's got a lick of proof he was actually planning to steal land from Louisiana 'n Florida! It's a crock of shite!” The man with the ball replied, then threw it. The batter struck with a loud crack and took off running. The man who'd thrown the ball cursed and stomped his foot before calling out to the runner. “And Hamilton was no great shakes, either!”

Closing my eyes briefly, I physically shook off the sudden and intense wave of bizarro deja vu that had rushed over me.

Right, Aaron Burr was on trial for high treason against the United States. Which meant Thomas Jefferson, the current serving President, had ordered the arrest of his own former Vice President.

“Nevermind, politics never changes,” I sighed, shaking my head and resuming my walk to the cottage.

“Oh, hello Henry!” I heard a female voice call out, and I smiled at the older girl waving at me. “How's the Professor this morning?”

“As spry as ever, Mary. How's your uncle?” I asked with a smile, trying to banish memories of nightmares of futures past.

“Uncle Reggy is doing well, I'll tell him you asked after him,” Mary smiled, the pretty young woman replied with a smile of her own as she swept a few stray red hairs over an ear and hefted the basket of laundry against her hip. “At least, I will when he wakes. I swear, if he weren't family I'd give him a thrashing for being such a layabout.”

I chuckled and nodded. Reginald Simons, Mary's uncle, had a cottage close to the Professor's. He was a lower-level academic and taught many of the introductory classes as well as being responsible for some of the functions and fundraising around Dartmouth. “Don't be too hard on him, Mary. It doubtless takes a great deal out of him to wine and dine so late into the evening.”

Mary laughed aloud, covering her mouth with her hand. “Henry Bell! You silver-tongued devil! I should let you get back to things before I find myself drawn into conversation and forget my own chores.”

That said, the redheaded girl bent slightly and kissed me on my cheek before turning and skipping away, shooting me a wink over her shoulder.

I sighed and shook my head, my gaze drifting from her backside. “Puberty is going to be hell.”

Mary was fifteen, though, and I was seven. Eight years might have not been much were I the older, but there was every chance she'd be married by the time I came of age. It really depended on whether she or Mr. Simons could arrange something.

I sighed again and opened the Professor's door, feeling the buzz of his home security system verify me. Shutting it behind me, I pulled my Sacred Gear from my satchel and felt it pulse as I pulled up [Purification Magic].

Opening up my hand, my magic flashed and the dirt and mud on my shoes vanished.

“There are upsides, though,” I nodded to myself, and began to get down to business.

~~~

Surprise! Here's something I've been working on since the poll hadn't finished yet. More of Henry Bell's adventures in the 1800's Highschool DxD AU, since a lot of people thought that was interesting. More details on magic and introducing a few side characters as well as setting the tone for the period. Also, a bit more of Henry bitching and moaning about not having modern technology, which is always fun.

Anyway! Poll results!

Winning Peace scrapes out a surprisingly close victory over Industrious. After that, New Ron takes up third and Nexus Event is a closer fourth than I would have expected. Where Your God Is, lastly, taking up fifth.

So, I'll be working on a WP chapter over the weekend, probably for release late Sunday. Between the Code Geass quest epilogue and an overnight sleep study I had to do, my schedule is a little off, but I'm managing.

Thanks for sticking with me for another month, and hope everyone is having a great weekend!