Barton strode into the former Textile Workshop, where the hum of hundreds of people at work swelled into a torrent.
Production lines made from rows of joined tables filled the space. Over a thousand workers in smocks of different colors bent over their stations.
Grinding, filtering, blending... fifty separate sections, fifty repetitive procedures.
They did not need to understand alchemy. They only needed to follow the simple diagram in front of them, performing the same task over and over.
Only the twelve steps designed to require magical blending were left to the Alchemists.
"Hey! Barton!"
A voice called from beside him.
Barton turned and saw a burly man with a grease-smeared face struggling to operate a heating furnace. It was Old Sam, an old friend who had hauled sacks with him back in Newborn Town.
"What are you doing here?" Barton walked over and patted his shoulder.
"The lord called for us, so I came." Old Sam wiped away his sweat and grinned, revealing a few yellow teeth. "You're the police captain now, lad. What brings you here? Helping out too?"
"I'm here to collect the medicine," Barton said succinctly.
"Ah!" Old Sam slapped his thigh. "Then you've come at just the right time. Something remarkable just happened." He jerked his chin toward a section nearby where everyone was beaming.
Barton followed his gaze and saw Master Valerius patting a middle-aged worker on the shoulder, his face full of approval.
The large vat of solvent in front of the worker was clear and bright, practically perfect.
"Have you heard?" Old Sam lowered his voice, his tone brimming with pride. "That batch was ruined just now. Even the master's apprentice said it would take two hours to fix. Guess what happened?"
"Old Joey from the brewery-you know, that drunk-went over and