The foul odor was making Jareth's eyes water by the time they arrived at the goblins' destination. He didn't understand what he was seeing, at first. Ramshackle sheds protected long rows of what looked like heaps of composting manure, but the smell was sharper than mere compost. And the heaps were placed on clay floors with a system of drains to draw off the liquids seeping out, instead of letting it leach into the ground.
As everywhere else in the goblins' domain, industry was evident. Jareth saw no overseers, no one keeping an accounting of what was done or by whom. Goblins of all shapes and sizes bustled about the operation, intent on a variety of tasks. All of them seemed familiar with what was required in each instance, and none seemed to show any preference for one task over another. As Valka had remarked, they took collective charge of matters, with little individual ownership.
The nearest row was being heaped with smelly night-soil, alternating with earth, broken twigs and leaves, worn-out rushes, bits of old masonry, and handfuls of ash. The next row over had heaps five feet tall, and as Jareth watched, goblins arrived with jars that they began to pour over those heaps. The smell made it clear what those jars contained: stale urine, the noisome reek of it turning Jareth's stomach and nearly pickling his nose.
Evidently, the goblins collected ash from the fireplaces and hearths, and emptied the chamber-pots from their city for this operation. They might well do the same for the castle and village. Landon would not necessarily have thought of it as something to trade for; cleaning the privies and ash-pits was a service performed, even if the raw materials so collected could be used elsewhere. Jareth was accustomed to night-soil collectors selling their products to tanneries, something he tried to keep far from his mind when donning a fine pair of doeskin gloves, but he couldn't yet fathom the purpose of the works before him.
Iswyniel held an embroidered cloth to her nose as she walked along the rows, and Jareth followed her, trying to make sense of what he was seeing. The heaps were apparently kept moist with more urine, and several goblins turned them lightly after the manner of compost. Further down the rows, Iswyniel came to a sharp halt, staring, and Jareth followed her gaze. He saw that the tops of the heaps here had grown a weird, whitish crust, and he was about to ask her what it was.
"Dear gods, whatever could that be?" Iswyniel said aloud, and somehow Jareth knew that she knew, but she was feigning ignorance for their audience.
"Dwarf salts!" a goblin piped up, grinning.
"Indeed. May the gods give them joy of it," Iswyniel replied. "And what do you do when the crust stops forming?"
"Leach it offs w' water an' gets the rests of the dwarf salts out," another goblin said. "Makes reg'lr salts, too. Ans potsash too, fer glass."
"Remarkably industrious," Jareth said, though he'd never heard of dwarf salts before. Potash, he knew, but he'd mostly seen it derived from wood ashes. With Iswyniel's sharp blue eyes on him, he continued, "What an ingenious procedure. You are all to be commended for carrying it out so thoroughly."
"Thanks!" the goblin replied, and bounded off, still smelling a little of rotting manure and stale urine.
"I believe we've seen enough for now," Iswyniel said, gripping the cloth closer around her nose. "Best to let them get on with their work, your majesty."
"Aye. It's clear to me these people need no interference," Jareth said. He wasn't imagining the way many pointed ears cocked toward his voice in satisfaction. "I am glad to have such hard-working and trustworthy subjects."
All the goblins giggled at that, and he and Iswyniel hastened away. She didn't speak as they sought out the gates that lead into the hedge maze, and even then Jareth was the first to broach the topic. "Dwarf salts? What in the names of all the forgotten gods was that?"
Iswyniel looked at him gravely. "Something you'll find in no other fae kingdom. 'Tis saltpeter, Jareth."
He frowned. Saltpeter was used by some in the curing of meats, though at home in Etaron they cured by ordinary salt, sugar, and smoke instead. It was also applied to some trees as fertilizer, to make them bring forth more fruit. He knew of the stuff, but couldn't fathom why it would be produced on an industrial scale. "Whatever for? Not curing meat, they have too little of it to cure. Nor fertilizer, they'd be better off using the well-rotted manure itself rather than going through the trouble of producing saltpeter."
Iswyniel arched a golden brow – faded gold, she had maintained her older appearance since meeting Jytha at the village – and said, "There's only one use for that much saltpeter. And I should've known. Dwarves and goblins both are immune to iron and steel. There are cannon-slots upon the castle battlements, too."
"Pray enlighten me?" Jareth said, a touch impatient.
Iswyniel looked around, and drew closer. "Saltpeter, sulfur, and charcoal make black powder, Jareth. We might find charcoal-burners' huts in the forest, but they don't mine here, so the sulfur would have to be brought in. They're either storing up black powder for guns large and small, or they're selling the saltpeter to those who can use the stuff. Or both."
Jareth could only stare at her. The fae, by and large, did not make much use of guns. Black powder had been introduced from the far East centuries ago, and was mainly used for fireworks, but like humans Above, the fae had learned of its potential for weaponry. Etaron had a series of great bronze cannons mounted about the castle walls, in the event of a siege, and many other kingdoms had similar defenses. Cast-iron cannonballs, however, were looked down upon in fae warfare, used only at the very last resort. The damage they did was too horrible, and so much iron lying about after a battle was a hazard to whoever won.
So the fae had never developed mobile artillery, such as the cast-iron cannon Jareth had sometimes seen Above, and they did not use hand weapons such as muskets, for those were typically made of steel. For ranged fighting, the fae were merciless with their longbows, and had no need of anything so vulgar as guns. But there was no reason the goblins could not make and use such weaponry.
No reason, either, for the lowland dwarves not to use them. The mountain race eschewed all ignoble weapons; their rock-cut halls were nigh impregnable anyway, and they had no need of such defenses as castle-dwelling fae employed. Swords, axes, and daggers were the weapons of the mountain dwarves, crossbows if they required distance.
Jareth's skin crawled. Did guns fire iron balls? He couldn't remember, but it seemed plausible, and the thought of a chunk of iron the size of a grape buried in his flesh made him nauseous. The High King had a particularly awful means of execution, for those whose crimes warranted more than mere beheading by sword or axe. It was called death by slow iron, and meant binding the condemned securely, then resting an iron bar upon them. The bar burned its way through fae flesh, and if placed upon the throat, death would come in agonizing minutes. If placed across the chest or waist, it could be hours of such torture. To be shot with an iron ball would be even more brutal, as it burned its way through his body.
Iswyniel was thinking much the same, by the worried tension in her brow. "We must go softly," she said. "I hope, perhaps, they sell most of what they make here. We've certainly seen no armory that contains what we dread. And this would answer for what Valka meant to tell us. Even though the mountain dwarves rarely use black powder themselves, they do trade in it. They mine for sulfur as well as salt, and precious gems and metals."
"Softly indeed," Jareth agreed. "Do we dare the maze, today?"
She nodded. "We must. But let us play foolish, if we are questioned. Let them think you are an earnest young princeling they can manipulate."
Jareth gave her a wry grin. "I will take it as a compliment that you do not think I am such."
She chuckled, and clasped his shoulder. "No get of mine is so easily fooled. Your errors come from your pride, not from lack of wits. Come now, let us hasten. I suspect Umardelin still has much to show us."
Authors' Note: Yes, this is really how saltpeter was produced in the Middle Ages. And tanneries did use urine and feces to cure hides. Could be worse, though. All those ancient Roman togas? To keep them white, they were washed in aged urine.
The more you know...