It took about as long as a chest tap to sort out all the ingredients in the prescription and set them on the table.
Kraft recognized some of them, but not others. Most of the familiar ones were things found in kitchens and on dining tables, used as seasonings.
The unfamiliar ones were completely unrecognizable. Now and then, David's explanations let Kraft match one to a name he'd happened to hear before, but he still couldn't tell them apart very well.
After all, plant mummies were much like human mummies: just a shriveled strip, with little resemblance to what they'd looked like in life.
Sliced roots, stalks cut into sections, rolled-up leaves, and powdered substances.
With unusual care, David took a little of each and weighed it on a smooth birch board, estimating the proportions. Then, using a tool that might have been made from animal bone, he scraped all the powder together in one clean sweep, aiming for precise measurements.
His movements were a little stiff, occasionally pausing for half a beat. Perhaps he was deliberately demonstrating a standard procedure he hadn't used in a long time.
There was reason to question the point of all this. The variation in active ingredients among naturally grown plants should have been far greater than the tiny amount left on the scales.
Following a particular order, he added half the ingredients to a lead pot and simmered them.
Noticing Kraft's expression, David explained, "Lead helps speed up the reaction and improves the medicine's taste."
Whether it sped up the reaction was uncertain, but it certainly sped up one's life.
As the mixture simmered over low heat, half the water in the pot evaporated. David added the remaining ingredients, topped it up with water, and continued heating it.
Kraft patiently watched the whole