Mastering Glazes and the Peddler's Prize
Mass-produced pottery using oxidized and reduced low-fire glazes wasn't hard to make, and adding fancy patterns or designs didn't boost its value much either. If anything, higher prices made it harder to sell. The budget line was fine as-is—no need to touch it.
The real issue was the main lineup: white porcelain. The previous batches had used four types of glazes on a white base. I'd made them before any sales to test what might sell, but after two trades, I could now tell good from bad based on what the merchants and butler had said.
With no stock left, it was time to produce for the next deal. First, I needed to pick a primary glaze for efficiency.
Ranking the glazes by sales price: celadon gloss, milk-white gloss, transparent gloss, milk-white matte.
Celadon-gloss white porcelain sold for several times the price of the others, while matte white dropped to near-earthenware value. Matte glazes required high firing like the budget stuff, so using them was a guaranteed loss. No reason to make more.
Milk-white and pure white held similar value, but the creamier milk-white edged out slightly higher. They had the same firing difficulty and defect penalties, so if I had to choose, milk-white gloss was the winner.
Finally, celadon glaze fetched top dollar but tanked hard on defects due to its distinctive color—down to earthenware levels. Both celadon and milk-white got their hues from iron in the clay reacting in the kiln's heat.
Low-oxygen environments produced ferrous oxide (FeO), yielding clear celadon blue-greens. Oxygen-rich ones made ferric oxide (Fe2O3), the yellowish rust we all know. Nearly all clays had iron, concentrated in the feldspar after sedimentation.
Celadon used high feldspar, letting iron shine through boldly; milk-white's low feldspar muted it. Plenty of kiln oxygen triggered oxidation: celadon turned yellow, milk-white added a soft yellow tint to the white base.
To nail celadon gloss, I needed low oxygen for reduction firing. That's why it was trickier than milk-white, which just needed air and heat—higher failure rate too. The premium price reflected that difficulty.
Armed with this, my plan: fire the kiln twice, once each for celadon and milk-white. Celadon gave high rewards but high scrap rates; milk-white was reliable but mid-tier priced. The kiln was idle anyway.
Different atmospheres anyway, so one batch each, smash the duds, stock only gems. That way, every sale was pure quality—same volume, multiples of the profit.
Two firings might overload good stock, so I'd add patterns to a portion each time. Early ones would suck and get scrapped, but successes could fetch 5-10x prices. Worth the shots.
"Clay, ready?"
Pre-dawn morning. Extra kiln hours today, so we'd prepped the night before and come early. Clay nodded briskly by the fire-ready kiln.
"Yes, young master! Plenty of firewood stacked up."
"Good. Let's fire it up."
I lit the stacked firewood in the combustion chamber. Flames spread slow, the kiln sucking air, white smoke soon billowing from the chimney. Now, hours of tending the fire, waiting for changes.
Starting with logs over charcoal dried the interior and built heat evenly. Charcoal alone burned too clean, no smoke—uneven dehumidifying, hot spots, defects galore. Logs all around.
Eight hours maintaining: white steam shifted to gray smoke, red flames, then bright orange flickers climbing the chimney. Branch point.
Drop charcoal now for full combustion: flames vanish, clear heat haze, oxidation dominates. Or block the mouth to a vent, force incomplete burn: black smoke, backflow flames, reduction takes over.
Not perfect uniformity, but hugely boosted odds for desired results. This load: all celadon, needing reduction.
"See the flame color? Seal the mouth now."
"Got it!"
Full orange on chimney, we bricked the mouth leaving just a vent. Flames gone, black smoke rising. Keep feeding charcoal till it turns blue flame. Three hours later, blue fire. Held that two more hours feeding, then sealed mouth and chimney with clay.
Did everything right. Wait for cooldown. Better than before, for sure.
*
Sunset painting the world red. Kassel, rookie peddler from Wainwright Count's Castle, rubbed his aching shoulder at the village gate. His pack held his entire fortune.
After paying escort fees to tag along with the official caravan, this first village looked like any rural backwater.
Bay...fort? That the name?
Dazed at the entrance, he paid one large copper coin toll to the approaching guard after the caravan passed. Inside, they headed to the lord's manor; he split off, hunting a room.
The inn-tavern by the square bustled with early diners. One large copper got him a cramped room. Unpacked, down to a corner seat.
Ten coppers for meal and ale, set on the wooden table. Tension gone, hunger hit; grabbing the mug, he blinked in disbelief. The quality stunned him.
"...What the hell?"
Turning it, his hand shook faintly. Fingernail flick: deep ring. The dishes matched. Calming, he scanned—patrons used these "luxuries" casually.
Even castle taverns used wood. Periphery village swimming in this?
Local product? Guild never mentioned.
He barely ate, wiping the mug with his handkerchief. Smooth, subtle sheen—color and texture rivaled guild high-end. Castle price: two silvers easy.
Meal done, he flagged a passing waitress, slipped her a copper tip.
"Hey, know where these ceramics come from?"
Used to it, she pegged him merchant, grinned.
"Trader, huh? Next door's general store. Stock's plentiful—no worries."
Village-made, confirmed. Kassel sighed relief, nodded. Rest tonight, hustle tomorrow.
Next day, square-center stall. Pack: 300 needles from castle smithy, three per large copper. Here: one per. Essentials sold steady—or so—but day one: 80 gone.
Day two: 20 more, then dried up. Done here. Packed, to the store.
Owner offered one silver per piece. After agonizing, two each plates, bowls, mugs—six total. Straw-wrapped safe in his pack, he left with the caravan.
His steps lighter than ever.
