Moon shook his head. "This arrangement won't do."
He looked to Frank. "How many serfs are there?"
"About five hundred, my Lord," Frank answered without hesitation.
Moon frowned. "And how much land do they cultivate?"
Frank considered. "Roughly six hundred acres all told."
Moon did a quick calculation in his head. Too small for comfort, though not unreasonable given the workforce. He sifted through Caspian's memories: of Ridgewell's four thousand souls, three dukes and five knight-commanders held their own estates, each with servants, bonded workers, and private plots.
It was clear where the problem lay. Ruling a domain required more than common sense—and Moon knew he was in over his head.
He turned to Lady Elva. "Let's meet again tomorrow morning to discuss your trade routes in detail."
She inclined her head, rose, and offered a graceful bow before departing.
Only Bradwell remained.
Moon fixed his gaze on the treasurer. "How much remains in the treasury?"
Bradwell's lips thinned. "Not as much as I would like, my Lord—roughly five thousand gold coins."
Moon's stomach sank. For a town this size, that was far too little.
"Well then," he said, pushing back from the table, decision settling in his voice. "First things first—let's go inspect the farmlands."
**
Moon set out with Frank and Bradwell,the carriage wheels crunching over the packed dirt of the southern road. From the estate to the broad farmlands was about a half-hour's ride—four or five kilometers by Frank's reckoning—yet the scenery shifted quickly as they left Ridgewell's stone-lined streets behind.
First came the outskirts: squat cottages of field hands and millers, their thatched roofs silvered with dew. Thin columns of smoke rose from morning fires, and children paused their games to stare wide-eyed as the lord's carriage rolled past. Beyond them stretched open pasture, a green quilt of early grain dotted with sheep and slow-moving oxen.
Another kilometer on, the road curved toward a low rise. Scattered hamlets clung to its base—clusters of wattle-and-daub huts where serf families lived within sight of their narrow strips of land. Women bent over garden plots, sleeves rolled high, while men hefted mattocks in furrows already warm under the strengthening sun.
Moon leaned forward to peer out the window, studying the layout. Most plots were long and thin, divided by rough hedgerows and small irrigation ditches that barely trickled after last week's rain. The earth looked rich enough, but the work was slow—too few hands for the acres under cultivation.
Bradwell cleared his throat. "This southern stretch feeds nearly half the town, my lord. The first major fields lie just beyond the hill. Another half hour south are the riverside pastures, but those belong mostly to the minor knights."
Moon nodded, taking it all in. Caspian's memories stirred at the edges of his mind, offering names and half-forgotten harvest tallies. He pushed them aside, measuring instead with his own eyes.
A gust of wind carried the earthy scent of tilled ground as he stepped down the carriage. He ordered for all the serfs to gather round.
Moon let his gaze sweep over the fields before stepping onto the small rise where every serf could see him. The autumn wind tugged at his cloak.
"Listen well," he called, his voice carrying across the crowd. "From this day on, every harvest will pass first through the Lord's storehouses. You will keep enough grain for your families, but selling to anyone else is forbidden and will be punished by law. In return, I will see that each of you has a solid roof and food enough through the winter."
A wave of low voices swept the gathering. Some frowned, others glanced at their neighbors.
"Silence."
The word cracked like a whip, and the murmuring died. "I am not asking for debate. You would be paid a standard amount of course, depending on the quality and quantity you provide. Winter is close. Your homes will be ready. Your meals will be provided while you work. That is all."
For a moment there was only the rustle of wind through dry stalks. Then the crowd slowly dispersed, uneasy but obedient.
Moon turned to Frank and Bradwell, the chill in his tone softening only slightly. "Frank," he said quietly once the serfs were out of earshot, "set up tents at the edge of the fields. Three meals a day for every worker until the houses are finished. Post a notice for more farmers and miners."
"Miners, my lord?" Frank asked, startled.
"Yes. Male only—eighteen to forty. For the farmers, men and women both. A gold coin per month, plus their food."
Frank's head jerked up, eyes wide. Bradwell nearly choked on the air.
"My lord… a gold coin?" Bradwell managed.
"It stands," Moon replied, his gaze firm. "I'll find the income to support it."
Bradwell offered a stiff nod, still unconvinced, while Frank bowed low and hurried off to carry out the orders.
Of course he did these for two purposes. One,to increase their happiness and two,to boost their morale. Food would be supplied to the farmers and miners until they get their first pay check but for the serfs,food would be supplied till the end of winter.
Moon's gaze lingered on the bent barks of the serfs and exhaled steadying himself. I'm really doing this, he thought.