Black Mould - Eleven - Warding Off Pestilence and Trouble

“No, no, no,” I muttered as I looked over my notes.

On the table before me (adjusted so that it was low enough that I could see atop it with my three-year-old frame) were three distinct mushrooms, all of them with a bite missing from their side. I had folded bits of paper with numbers on them next to the samples, marking them as samples 7, 18, and 22.

Sighing, I scratched out the 18 and 22 in my notebook. Sample seven was still better, even three generations in.

For the last several months, I had been growing and regrowing the same mushrooms, altering a few things as I went to see if I could produce something special. I tried variations in the composting, in the amount of magic used to feed the mushroom, and occasionally in the housings I used to grow my samples.

So far, I was creating a lot of mushrooms that were of poorer quality in one way or another. I had even lost some entire samples because they died off within a few days.

Sample seven wasn’t one of mine. It was grown here, certainly, but the mushroom it had originated from was one my mom bought for a bit more at a local grocer’s. The kind of mushroom that slightly better-off families would buy to eat.

It was the same [Horse Head Mushroom] - Common as my others, but something about it was different.

The system couldn’t distinguish between it and others. Observing the mushroom or mycelium only gave the same result as any other sample.

I suspected that these were grown in large batches in a well-controlled farm somewhere. A mycologist was likely employed to improve upon their already high quality, and this was the end result.

It really frustrated me that someone had come and done my job better than I could. Nevermind that I was only three.

Shaking my head, I grabbed my samples and tossed them into my mouth. That was the fun part of this kind of work, I got a snack when I was all done. Honestly, the farm, as small as it was, was a great boon to our little family. We had more mushrooms than we knew what to do with, and Mom had started selling them to some of her friends at work.

It meant a tiny bit more money for us, and we were eating better too. Sure, it was mushrooms every meal, and even I was growing a bit tired of them, but they were nutritious, and as long as we supplemented them with other things, we’d be fine.

The hunger was pushed at bay, at least for now.

It was a small but meaningful victory.

I cleaned up my workbench with a rag, missing the stainless steel of my past life, then I tucked away a few boxes and planters into their cubbies.

Once everything was back in its place, I grinned to myself and dropped to my knees next to my planter wall.

So far, I had been growing nothing but horse head mushrooms and a few brown chanterelles. The two had gotten my levels up in a satisfactory way, but it was clear that you could only get so far while doing the same task over and over again.

Levels, it seemed, were dependent on experience: experience gained by experiencing new things. My mom was the one to explain it to me. She said that it was hard to level up skills at work because she was mostly just doing the same task over and over again, with few variations.

So I was starting a few little projects. Just a few curiosities that I thought might prove useful in the future.

If my experiments with the horse head mushrooms were any indication, then that was somewhat unlikely, but the experience from trying might be valuable.

The bottommost box was filled with the usual mix of dirt and compost and rotting wood. It was split down the centre by a piece of presswood that my dad had cut into shape to use as a divider.

On the right, were a few little white bits of stubble, about the size of an adult’s finger, and usually with a slight bend in their middle.

[Dead Man’s Finger] - Common

A common wood-rot fungus. Its flowering scent, though unnoticeable to most, repels many insects. Inedible. Consumption leads to digestive issues.

That was a neat find. I was walking over to the farm when I saw some of these babies poking out of the shadows behind a supporting beam. The beam was all scaled and rotting, which gave the fingers plenty of space to grab on and grow.

I was mostly growing them for fun, though the added anti-insecticide benefits were a nice bonus. I often had problems with flies filling my farm. They were attracted to the rotting meat I used as fertiliser. I had found a few pockets of maggots in said meat while chopping it up already.

Fewer flies around me was nice. It meant fewer distractions from my work. I’d begun to spread some spores of this fungus near our home too, just a pinch here and there. The conditions weren’t ideal, but this mushroom in particular seemed hardy.

The second mushroom I was growing was far more interesting. So far, all I had to show for my planting of some spores was a few tiny web-like mycelia spreading across the dirt. Not much to show for, but it was a start.

These were a gift, of sorts, from my mom.

She mentioned off-hand that there was too much powder in a container of milk she had purchased, and when I asked her what she meant, she had mentioned that the milk she bought (rather infrequently, as it was something of a treat, though any milk she bought that went bad could be turned into butter with a bit of elbow-grease) had a powder added to it to kill any flies that landed in it.

A bit gross, but that’s how things were.

Of course, that pinged off an old memory, and after some digging into it, I was certain that the powder they used was fungus-based.

Then mom came home with a tiny chunk of mushroom in a piece of cloth. She apparently knew a woman who knew a woman who worked at a dairy place.

Fly agaric. Named because it warded off flies.

It was also one of the most easily recognizable mushrooms in my previous life as the big red things that Mario used to grow bigger. It was, of course, poisonous, but only a little bit.

Used the right way, fly agaric could ward off flies. Used another way, and it could give you a hallucinogenic episode. I recalled reading about druids cultivating these and eating them to give themselves great drug trips.

[Bug Agaric] - Common

A mushroom prized for its utility as an insecticide and as a drug.

I worried a bit while growing these. They were probably illegal. Most of the time, drugs weren’t very popular with law enforcement. I could probably fib and say that I was growing it for the insecticide properties, though, especially next to another insecticidal plant

In reality, I was curious about a few other things. Just how magical could I make these magic mushrooms?

If I needed to fight someone one day, then these might be the way to go as well. Powdered, they could take effect in a couple of minutes, and no one was going to fight well while hallucinating wildly.

I wasn’t much of a fighter, but… well, I’d seen some bodies on my way to and from my farm. Some had starved. More had been shanked.

Never once saw a bully down here.

Once I was done checking on my little projects, I packed things up, stretched a little, then prepared to head out.

Dad was coming home soon, which meant Mom was going to wake up, and I kinda didn’t want them to find out I was sneaking over here on my own.

I locked the farm up behind me, then ran back. My legs were still small, but I carried nothing and my [Running] skill was levelling up at a slow but decent rate. Soon I’d hit level twenty and unlock whatever came with that!

A few of the locals eyed me with the usual suspicion, but some had seen me on my route before, and to be fair, I was a little brat. Even if I had a knife to shank them with, I wouldn’t be able to reach anything more vital than their groins.

I was full of energy too, and my bare feet carried me across our nook of the slums and back home in a flash.

Something was wrong, I knew it the moment I arrived.

Mom was wailing, Dad was breathing hard, and there was a trail of blood near our door.

***