Vol 7, Chapter 25

◆ Eagle Cliff, Head of Administration Tamilla POV ◆


"My lady, the quarterly reports have arrived."

Tamilla inclined her head in acknowledgment to the aide, who carefully placed the fresh bundle of papers onto a desk already drowning in documents.

To the steady rhythm of the pendulum clock, she drew several sheets from the top of the pile.

By now, hundreds of thousands of gold pieces were circulating each month in a fragile equilibrium between the treasury and the populace. The Capital still possessed far greater wealth, but Tamilla would swear an oath that the county's trade turnover had nearly reached the capital's level.

And that was despite the fact that there were no aristocrats in the county, the very people who normally consumed the lion's share of money.

Wages were being paid, funds disbursed for countless construction projects, taxes levied, payments received for supplies: income and expenditure.

It all resembled a waterfall, where fallen water was being forced, by every possible means, back to the top. Buckets, pumps, pipes; whatever means at hand. For the moment it worked, but with each month the waterfall demanded more and more water. Some of it splashed beyond the borders of the county despite all her efforts to draw wealth in, but more troubling… for some reason, the waterfall itself seemed to be drying up. With each passing day the flow thickened, growing viscous.

"Anything else?" she asked the aide, forcing the image of the waterfall from her mind.

"Marquis Short requests a loan from his suzerain. For his wedding, with a certain Monika."

"How much?"

"Twelve thousand gold."

Tamilla pursed her lips. Despite the loss of his lands, some seized by the First Duke, others effectively under Condor County's control, the boy wasn't about to abandon his habit of flaunting wealth.

On the other hand, it was an excellent way to legitimize the change of control over his property.

"We'll allocate half the sum." Tamilla swiftly scrawled the credit terms and handed the paper to her aide.

"Very well, I'll deliver the offer to his courier. Short will be pleased."

He would be, at least until he discovered the interest rates…

The aide departed, leaving her once again surrounded by the ticking of the grandfather clock. Tamilla gathered the mess of papers on her desk into some semblance of order and continued to study the reports. Some goods had once more fallen in price.

That in itself was no surprise: mechanization, advancing by giant strides, was driving the cost of one product after another into the ground.

But there were other goods, brought in by merchants, that were becoming cheaper in a troubling way. Not that this offended her as a trader, but because she could see no cause for it. By all the laws of commerce, prices should have been rising. A sudden leap in prosperity ought to have sent costs upward. She could explain the fall in price of each item taken separately, but not the phenomenon as a whole.

Worse yet, shops were complaining ever more often about the shortage of small change. Barter was flourishing among townsfolk, while sales volumes shrank. On the other hand, the rise in food prices was far from critical; which meant that this month wages need not even be raised to satisfy the lord's requirement for per-capita food availability.

Still, Tamilla could not fully grasp the root of the matter, and that irked her. Her thoughts drifted back to the waterfall… only this time, it was not water, but gold that poured over its brink.

There was not enough money.

That was nothing unusual. If a merchant claimed to have enough money, then he was no merchant at all. But no, this was something else.

Money itself was becoming more valuable…

"Perhaps with the new machines we can reopen the old silver mine near Ligrad… I'll have to ask Randal," she murmured thoughtfully, nibbling at the end of her pen.

Extraction of silver, and especially gold, was permitted only under the King's control. That, of course, had never stopped countless prospectors from skimming their share, secretly exploiting certain deposits. For, after all, unlike gemstones, which still had to be sold, extraction of precious ores was the direct extraction of money itself.

All it required was a cooperative metal mage, and fresh gold would be indistinguishable from coin struck by the mint.

A little trampling underfoot, a good rub with dirt, and it was ready.

No risk at all—except that if caught engaging in illicit mining, every person involved would lose their heads.

Still, the operative words were: if caught.

There was still another option: to use the mined copper to mint their own coins. Yes, the royal laws were severe toward anyone counterfeiting royal coinage, even copper. No less severe were they toward those who tried to stamp their own gold or silver coins.

Yet there was a loophole: minting one's own copper coinage was not forbidden. It was assumed no one would bother with such money, since only gold and silver held intrinsic value. And however common copper might be, turning it into coins, even counterfeit ones—was hardly profitable.

At least, not profitable to anyone who wasn't smelting copper by the ton. With the new machines, the kingdom could be flooded with copper coinage. Surely minting coins couldn't be more difficult than forging swords.

However, minting coins of the royal design was an act of war. If one minted their own instead, the problem remained: how to compel people to use them alongside the royal coppers?

It was one thing when a coin was struck from precious metal, and another when it was made of common copper. Convincing people that this particular copper disc held special value would not be easy…

Knock-knock!

A loud rapping at the door shook her from her thoughts.

"KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK!" It came again, so loud it drowned out the ticking of the tall clock. No, there would be no clear thinking now…

"Come in," Tamilla relented, setting down her pen in irritation.

Mira entered, pulling back her hood and shaking melting snowflakes onto the parquet. She hadn't even opened her mouth before Tamilla snapped:

"No money for another school!"

"Uh…" Mira tried to say something, but was cut off again.

"Nor for books for the library either." The merchant shot down another request instantly, but to her surprise, the girl didn't leave.

"I have a personal request," she said shyly, while her tail flicked nervously.

The merchant's left eyelid follows suit. Personal requests had always been the most burdensome.

"Come back another time, I have too much to do," she tried to deflect, ostentatiously pulling a report closer.

"I heard the same yesterday. And the week before. I'm not leaving until you listen."

So there would be no putting her off. In that case…

"Speak, then. Quickly," Tamilla sighed.

"I need a fencing instructor. The best. From the Capital." Mira clenched her fists as she said it.

Silence filled the office, broken only by the steady tick of the clock.

Tamilla had expected many things: requests for more equipment for the schools, for help finding additional teachers… but that the beast-girl herself would want a teacher?

"Why?" Tamilla rolled her eyes, giving voice to the thought.

"Um… I need to. Like I'd actually tell you why! Just get me one, that's all!" Mira flicked her tail irritably.

She clearly had no intention of answering properly, which left Tamilla no choice. She focused, trying to sense her feelings.

Her gaze reached past the tense figure, ears flattened in a battle stance against her head. Embarrassment, a trace of fear, but also strong determination. Mira was absolutely telling the truth, convinced she truly needed a fencing master. Perhaps she could be persuaded otherwise?

"Hiring a teacher from the Capital will be very expensive. If you don't honestly explain why, I can't help you." Tamilla lowered her voice, making it as warm and sympathetic as possible.

Mira bit her lip. Her fists uncurled, her hands nervously kneading her dress.

"Mmm…"

"Sit down. Have some tea," Tamilla coaxed more gently, seeing her softer tone was working. "Tell me everything. Maybe I'll find a way to help you…" (without such costly measures)

She kept the last words to herself.

After a few cups of tea, she managed to draw Mira out.

"I'm too far behind everyone. There's nothing I'm really good at. I don't understand alchemy, I don't know how mechanisms work. I can't even fence!"

"But you have students... And a tail," Tamilla said soothingly.

"And they're always asking to pet it," Mira huffed catlike, draining her cup. "That's not what I wanted out of life…"

"And you think waving a sword will help?"

"I think it might be something I could be good at. As much as I cursed the chimerologists, they did make me stronger and faster." After a pause she added, "I don't know any other way to stand out."

"You do realize Countess Klaus trained her entire life?"

"That's exactly why I need the best instructor," Mira snapped.

Tamilla laced her fingers in thought. The best would cost thousands of gold.

"Do you know why a beginner shouldn't start with the best right away? Maybe learn the basics first? You have plenty of knights working in your school—ask them to help. I'm sure they won't refuse you."

"You think so? Maybe it's better if…"

"And besides, finding a master will take time, while these gentlemen are already here." (And most importantly—completely free!)

"All right, fine! You convinced me, I'll ask them."

"Good. Now, I really must get back to work."

After seeing her guest out, Tamilla spent nearly a minute watching her go. Who needed fencing these days, when even a master of the blade could fall before reaching an enemy? She'd be better off learning to shoot! But as always, the merchant kept such thoughts to herself.

Fencing lessons were free, while powder and bullets cost money. The treasury didn't need extra expenses.

One sheet of statistics followed another. Tamilla was forced to admit that the lord's obsession with counting everything that could possibly be counted was surprisingly effective. Spending time with numbers revealed connections and even let one predict future developments.

Unlike the impersonal statistics, however, the reports left no room for interpretation. An accident at a construction site. A mishap on the conveyor. Delays. Production schedules disrupted.

The consequences were plain to see, unpleasant but not critical. The faster industry expanded, the greater its margin of resilience—especially if incidents were smoothed over wisely by redistributing resources.

Evening settled over the county lands. Shadows stretched long, while the sunset lit the office with a soft orange glow. Frost ruled the streets, yet inside the administration building it was warm. The days were gone when several fireplaces were needed to heat the place; now warmth spread on its own through cast-iron pipes.

Tamilla leaned back in her chair, working the stiffness from her shoulder. Hunger gnawed at her, but she was more than satisfied with herself. Not even when her merchant guild thrived in the Capital had she commanded such vast flows of money.

Her workday was over… but the work evening was beginning. She needed to check contracts with visiting traders, send out dozens of letters. The work would last deep into the night, as always.

But first, she ought to have some breakfast.

Tamilla reached for the bell to summon a servant, when she noticed the unusual silence surrounding her.

The clock had stopped.

Her hand froze just above the bell. For several seconds she stared at the clock in thought. In the shadow cast from the window it was hard to make out, but it seemed the pendulum had halted. Stuck? Another problem…

Sighing, she rose from her chair and groaned softly as she bent, her back protesting after a full day at the desk. She had to stretch.

When she finished, she walked to the clock and nudged the pendulum with her finger. To her surprise, it wasn't stuck at all—the pendulum swung easily side to side.

Tick-tock, tick-tock!

"Hm." She frowned thoughtfully, and in that same instant her legs sank through the parquet, swallowed by shadow.

She didn't even have time to cry out before her familiar surroundings vanished, leaving only darkness.

In the silence of the empty office, the clock carried on its steady march, undisturbed.