Moving thousands of gold coins through a ledger was entirely different from seeing the same weight sitting in front of you. The fact that it was technically ominous, unclaimed property of the cursed dead, barely registered.
"I searched the Metioz County territory and found it."
"Is that region still accessible?"
"It is. I also raided a group of grave robbers while I was there."
"Grave robbers? Did they attack the northern settlers?"
"No. Survivors of the Hollowing... those fools. Strange-looking, but they wore the emblem of the Order of the Shattered Gate. I assumed they'd attack either the settlers or the risen dead if left alone, so I dealt with them."
"Good. The survivors hate the Pale King and us, by extension. And the Order of the Shattered Gate..."
Aldric cut him off. "The King's agent added more gold because of it. You should have seen the faces of the settler nobles."
"That's unfortunate for them. In any case, I won't sell this on consignment. I'll purchase it directly through the Northern Foundation."
"Why?"
"Orders from above. Stockpile gold — precious metal and gem prices are going to rise."
Aldric's expression darkened.
There were many reasons precious metal prices rose, but the one that sat worst with him was conflict. As a Veld soldier, he had no objection to conflict on principle. But he was slowly rebuilding his crew, and conflict was expensive in exactly the ways that mattered.
If the Foundation was paying close attention to this particular situation, it was likely significant. Which meant the price of sailors and soldiers at least in this region would climb sharply.
"Don't worry yet. Whether a conflict actually breaks out is still unknown. Even the rumor of one is enough to push prices, which is why we're moving early. The ten crossbowmen you requested are already prepared, all from the Northern autonomous region."
Aldric's mouth twitched. Mori had been reading his plans several moves ahead. The slyness of southern merchants still caught him off guard.
"Good. And my purchases?"
"Ready."
"I haven't committed to a direction yet south or north. I want to find something cheap enough to buy now and valuable enough to sell well before deciding."
"You haven't decided?" Mori asked with genuine puzzlement.
Aldric nodded.
"We didn't get to discuss it through the Grain Channel. I'm considering going south this winter spending a season working as a contracted blade for the Imperial Governor. But I haven't heard any worthwhile recruiting news yet."
"With your name, there shouldn't be much difficulty."
Aldric waved the comment away. It was flattery, and flattery from branch wardens had a predictable function.
"Reputation is a free gift that costs you everything. The Empire doesn't treat you like anything special until the moment they need you and then they act surprised when you ask for terms. It's strange to rush in begging for work before anything has actually started."
"That's fair."
"Either way, we'll stay in Velrun a while and settle on a route. If neither south nor north suits us, we'll take the western coastal road up the continent."
"Then before you decide pick up whatever trade goods are popular and cheap before prices move."
"Start with the underpriced ones."
"Red fabric dyed with Gensari root, blue cloth with Damaren weave, salt from the Sanctibus flats, matches, and winter clothing."
Aldric nodded through the list and asked,
"You'll have that ready quickly?"
"Of course."
"Good. Prepare the ledger as written on this paper."
The paper came from Aldric's fist. Branch Warden Mori accepted the crumpled sheet, produced his reading glasses, put them on, and read for a moment.
"Health Methods, A Treatise on the Study of Nursing, A Critique of the Outlines of Surgery, A Complete Work of Trigonometry, Elements of Geometry, A History of Civilization, The Triumph of Time, The World of Imagination…" He looked up. "You're remarkably good at finding new books."
"The Ashen Covenant is obsessed with them. Keep some rum set aside for the sailors."
"Can we substitute Foundation rum for the Western variety?"
It was a straightforward question. Aldric gave Mori the answer he was looking for.
"There's a tariff on Western rum in this town. I've heard they've been raising it."
"It's true. I don't know why."
"They're probably afraid their own spirits will lose out. Whatever. Velrun is a vassal city...small production. It's good for us either way. Our rum is somehow staying competitive."
"If we're doing it, we should be buying from fellow Northerners."
"Taxes are sometimes useful. That doesn't apply to the unlicensed distilleries Aldric trades with,"
Mori added with a quiet laugh. Aldric waved him off and glanced toward the window. A reflex, checking who might be nearby.
"Don't go spreading that. It'll be a problem if the wardens find out."
The branch warden finally laughed openly.
"Yes. I'll give you a discount on the rum."
"Should I push the price down a bit more?"
"We have to eat too."
"You're pulling in this much gold and still haggling. Fine. This is a request from Elder Brom of Lacto Pioneer Settlement. He wants the herb payment, the herbs we brought separately, delivered as a bill of exchange to the Foundation ship heading north."
"That old man, he knew only coin and gold, and now he's using exchange notes."
"I suppose the Pioneer Settlement has grown enough to trade with branches directly."
"Times change. Who would have thought Northerners would prosper in the South through trade and finance? I wish the Elders were a little less stubborn about it."
The voice directed itself at the war elder sitting beside Commander Aldric. The Hollowing, thirty years prior, had forced tremendous change on Northerners who had been living a full century behind the rest of the continent but the Elders remained conservative, secretive, and slow to move.
The elder in question simply clicked his tongue and said nothing. Aldric offered a brief defense on his behalf.
"If you have people pushing the edge, you also need people holding the center. Add a few serious books to the order. Not just popular ones."
"The Commander is a conservative himself, so that's a circular argument. I'll choose the books."
"I'd appreciate it if you'd price them fairly for him. I'll pack Elder Brom's separately."
"Understood. I'll have the new recruits sent by this evening. Oh. I just remembered. I also have some slaves and flintlock pistols available. How many pistols would you like to see?"
Aldric's interest sharpened at the mention of pistols. More firearms were always better. Two matchlocks could become cumbersome; pistols, less so you could carry several. As a sidearm, they were worth considering.
"How long?"
"About a span."
Aldric's expression shifted just slightly, but Mori caught it. A pistol one span long was too small by any reasonable standard.
"It needs to be at least two spans to be worth carrying. What can you do with a child's toy? We have more powerful weapons than that."
"It's a primer-lock."
"I told you earlier."
Aldric reversed his position immediately. A primer-lock pistol simpler in mechanism than a matchlock was expensive precisely because primer production was still limited and slow. Small was forgivable when the mechanism was that advanced.
"I won't commit to a number yet, but have the new recruits bring a few and send them over. Include some primer rounds. I'll see the slaves on the way out, they're in the unloading warehouse?"
"Yes. I'll have everything prepared. Anything else?"
"Nothing more to add."
It was all as agreed through the Grain Channel in advance. Business was always full of stories, but they had covered what needed covering. Now it was time for the most important matter. No one spoke. An uncomfortable silence settled over the room.
Aldric broke it with a single exhaled breath.
"What's the news?"
"I'm sorry." Mori apologized as though he had been braced for the question. Aldric's shoulders dropped, and something heavy moved across his face, more serious than mere disappointment.
The face of a tired old man. In a moment, his frame seemed to contract. Elder Ged clicked his tongue softly. The others held their silence.
Aldric filled his chest again. He recovered his stubborn old face and spoke in a flat, hard voice.
"Yes. I understand."
"I'm truly sorry."
Those seated rose at the same moment. The instant they stepped out of the reception room, Mori and Aldric turned and walked their separate ways. The subordinates exchanged glances and sent pleading looks toward Oren but as the most senior member of the crew, he understood better than to pry into whatever the Commander had left unspoken. He asked the only question worth asking.
"Commander, is your leg alright?"
Aldric nodded once. His trousers showed a faint stain where the stitching was. Elder Ged answered before anyone else could.
"Just a scratch. I applied some Stillbrew and bandaged it. He'll be fine."
"It was too deep to call a scratch. How is he walking like nothing happened?"
"He fought the Greymantle and lived. That's the Pale King's protection at work. Death itself gave way."
"Nonsense."
Aldric cut it off. He settled into his usual position and offered exactly one piece of wartime philosophy.
"Everything is fate. Victory, defeat, life, death."
"There it is again. That old-fashioned fatalism."
"You get something from calling it old-fashioned in front of an Elder?"
Aldric glanced at Shiron and Ged, who were already laughing and mock-shoving each other, and his face remained exactly as it was as he spoke.
"Let's go see the slaves."