I'm going to blame it on the wonder bread. It was the thing that cracked Baron Bolster's last vestiges of restraint. After finishing the loaf, he asked me if he could take a look at the chair he was sitting on. I completely understood his desire; a folding chair was something new and interesting.
"Of course. Anything you see, you may take a look at. Ask any questions you may have, and I will try my best to answer, though much of what you will see I do not fully understand. I have a lot of creative minds here in North Cove, and they do a lot of the work."
"This is the most generous of you, Amos. Most would hide their secrets." He said as he bent down at the wooden peg that worked as the hinge mechanism for the chair.
I waved off his thanks. "The chair design would be made elsewhere as soon as someone bought it. I am sure that even if I didn't let you study it by the time you got back to Bolster, you would have figured out a way to create one yourself."
He said nothing more as he continued to fold and unfold the chair. His son, Will, took his father's sudden fascination with the chair as permission to do his own investigation. "What is that?" he said as he pointed to a man with a wheelbarrow hauling rocks towards one of the frames that would soon be a house."
"Ah, that is a wheelbarrow. An excellent invention that has truly sped up the process of moving loads from point A to B." I said.
"Point A to B?"
"Sorry, another way to say getting from here to there."
"And how did you come up with this invention?"
"Same way I do everything. I ask my peasants to figure out a way to do something, and if they succeed, then I pay them," I said simply.
"So you have hired a team of engineers to just work on different ideas you come up with. It must be quite expensive to have them working on this all the time."
That made me chuckle. "Well, I do ask particular people sometimes, but mostly I just hand out ideas to everyone, and they work together to make it happen."
The look on both the baron and young Will's faces was priceless.
"Even your farmers?" The boy said skeptically.
"Why not?"
"Because…Because they are just farmers."
I didn't get mad. I knew that his beliefs were born of ignorance. "Let me tell you a story. See those homes over there." I pointed to one of the new homes going up whose frame was just now being filled in with rock, gravel, and mud. "That was not my idea. It wasn't a mason's or a carpenter's idea either. It was one curious farmer's idea. You see, I had my home freshly plastered in preparation for a visit from a noble family. Being an artist, I thought putting wood beams in a decorative pattern around the house would look nice. Our miller in Bicman thought it looked nice and paid for some people to come and help him do the same. A particular farmer was walking by and had an idea." I took a sip of water before continuing. "He asked those who were building it if it would make sense to just make the whole frame out of timber. Then just fill in the gaps."
This caused the boy's mouth to fall open, "But-"
I held up a hand. "Let me give you a piece of wisdom. Not everyone has good ideas, but a good idea can come from anyone, no matter their background. I asked for a better way to churn the dirt, thinking that the true nutrients in the soil here may be locked further down. And two men did it. Now, North Cove, which had been considered cursed, will produce just as much as any other county this year. The books everyone is so fond of would not have been possible without two young girls, a serf, and a freeman's daughter. When they got stuck in the process, a cook helped them out, then later a tanner, and finally a fuller. That is how one of the most prized possessions in all of Falmoren came to be. And it all started with a thought I had and two young women who made it happen."
"I just don't understand. I have been out in the villages of our barony; the people there are not capable of such things," he said as if affirming an indisputable truth.
I shook my head, "It is only that they have no incentive to reach for more. If I set one hundred gold crowns on the table and told you you could have all of it if you invented something that could seed a field, would you try it?"
He nodded thoughtfully as if already trying to come up with an idea.
"Now, what do you think happened when I offered a gold to anyone in Cove Town who could do the same?"
"They…"
"Yep, a young serf about your age had an idea and tried to build it. He had to turn the idea over to a blacksmith, who made a few changes before finishing it."
Baron Bolster straightened, forgetting the chair in his hands. “You have such a machine?”
I felt I was starting to get a feel for this man. He was patient as I explained things to his son, soaking in my words as I explained how to utilize his human resources better, but when it came to something new, he latched onto it like a hound catching a scent.
I set my cup down and leaned back a little, giving them both a moment to settle. “Yes,” I said. “A simple machine, but it’s changed everything.”
Will edged closer, planting his hands on the table as if that would pull the words out of me faster. The baron stayed still, though the intensity in his eyes was clearer than if he’d grabbed my collar.
“It looks like a narrow cart,” I began. “Two wheels, a wooden hopper on top, and a row of small tubes underneath. Nothing impressive at first glance. If you didn’t know what it did, you’d think it was a feed bin someone forgot to unload.”
The baron grunted, urging me on.
“You fill the hopper with seed,” I said. “As the wheels turn, they spin a spindle inside. That spindle shakes the seeds down into the tubes. Each tube drops the seed into the soil at the same depth. A small plow at the front cuts the line. A little flap at the back covers it.”
Will’s eyes widened. “So it plants rows by itself?”
“Exactly. Straight rows, evenly spaced. No guessing. No handfuls thrown too thick or too thin. One person can seed a field in a quarter of the time. Maybe less if the ground’s already soft.”
I glanced toward the distant fields, where the workers were too far away to see, but the steady rhythm of their tools drifted in on the warm air. I was proud of them. My idea had been a seed spreader. But as people started putting in input, and after a week of several heated arguments, the design ended up much different. It was a machine that dropped seeds at intervals down the field. It looked like the Bicman plow and wheelbarrow had a baby. It wasn't perfect, and everyone was still shouting different ideas on how to make it better for next year, but—it worked. I think everyone on the project was more surprised than I was that it actually worked. Unfortunately, by the time it had been completed, most of the planting had already been done. By next year, however, the North Cove Planter would be ready to drop seeds into the ground.
"As you know," I continued. “Seeding is slow. Backbreaking. And wasteful. Half the fight was simply getting the seed into the soil before birds or wind took it.”
“And now?” the baron asked.
“Now...we wait and see. But things look promising.”
He let out a low whistle. “And a serf thought of this.”
“Yes. A quiet boy, actually. He watched the mill one afternoon and wondered why seeds couldn’t be guided the way grain is fed into the stones. He took one of my ideas, adjusted it, and made a sketch." I didn't mention the part where he stole North Cove property and got a beating from two guards. "The blacksmith adjusted it. A carpenter built the frame. Another man suggested the flap at the back to cover the groove.”
Will shook his head slowly. I wondered what was going through his mind right then. Another brain broken by my awesomeness.
“It’s not magic,” I said. “Just people given a chance to think and a reason to try.”
The baron rested his hands on the back of the half-folded chair, thoughtful for the first time since I’d met him. “I’d like to see this invention of yours.”
“You will,” I said. “And once you do, you’ll want one. Maybe ten.”
The baron gave a genuine laugh. "I have no doubt."
"So you have a wagon full of supplies to trade. You did not know of the books, so I am assuming you are interested in something else," I said, folding my hands together on the table and leaning back just enough to signal that I was done circling the topic.
Bolster’s mouth curved upward. He rested his forearms on his knees, the rings on his fingers catching the light. "I see where your mind is," he said. "So let me be plain. I am after paintings. My father saw one of yours while in Kimton, only one, but it left an impression. Especially the price it sold for at the auction, it left an impression. He is very interested in acquiring one. Enough so that he would pay quite a lot to have you come to Bolster and paint him yourself."
That surprised me in the best way. I felt my expression soften before I could stop it. "I would love to do that," I said honestly. "Once things calm down here, I can set aside time to visit Bolster. We could do a family portrait."
Then my mind caught up with what he said. "At the auction?"
"Oh, yes, you see one of the barons you painted brought his painting to Kimton and auctioned it off. The rumor was that he had gotten into financial debt and that painting pulled him out of it. It was the first time that many people were able to view one of your paintings. It was quite a fierce bidding pool. I would imagine you will start receiving requests for visits soon."
I chuckled, "I already have some people to whom I promised paintings that are coming this summer. They were supposed to come earlier, but I had to cancel. But I now know what caused the sudden surge of requests last month."
Bolster laughed along with me, "I would be very careful with how much you are selling those paintings for. If people can buy them from you and then turn around and sell them to get financial gain, they will. Well, most won't. To have a picture painted by Baron Bicman, excuse me, Count Bicman, is a symbol of prestige. But if your price isn't high enough, you will be flooded with requests."
"Thank you for the warning, and I look forward to coming to Bolster."
As I spoke, my mind was already wandering, bouncing between the thought of setting firm lower limits on my paintings as well as imagining the great stone wall of Bolster. I wonder if it would be a good place to do the family portrait. I’d heard rumors about the way light might fall across them, and what pigments I could trade for from the Artanes on the far side of the mountains. Traveling the back route through the passes sounded like its own reward.
"Then we will make it happen," Bolster said, decisive, as if the matter were already settled.
While we spoke, I noticed young Will sitting just a little straighter than before. His eyes tracked the conversation with sharp focus, though every so often, that concentration would slip, and his eyes would glaze over. He was trying, really trying, but there was only so much formal talk a young man could absorb.
I smiled to myself. It was probably time.
"Why don’t we walk while we talk?" I said, shifting my weight forward and rising from the bench. The wood creaked softly beneath me as I stood. "I’m sure you’d like to see the village. And I have a few things I’d like to show you."
Bolster stood as well, straightening his coat, while Will pushed himself up a little too quickly, nearly bumping the edge of the table before catching himself.
We stepped away from the seating circle and out onto the packed earth of the square. The sounds of North Cove were already all around us, hammer on iron, voices calling out measurements, the rhythmic creak of a wagon axle rolling past. The main road stretched ahead, and as we fell into step together, the budding village began to unfold around us with each pace.
As we walked past a newly raised row of houses, Will tilted his head, slowing just enough to take them in. After a moment, he frowned. "They’re all the same," he said, curious.
“Yes,” I replied, following his gaze. The buildings stood shoulder to shoulder, their lines clean and deliberate. “And while I’m all in favor of uniqueness, uniformity is far more efficient when you’re trying to build a massive amount of housing quickly. Every piece used for the same purpose is cut to the exact same length. There are rules for everything.”
I stepped off the road and pointed to a neat stack of logs waiting beside one of the foundations. “Each of those is four meters tall. One meter is buried in the ground, and the other three stand above it.”
I didn’t add that I’d wanted to pour proper concrete footings beneath them. That would have taken more time, more labor, and more expense than we could afford at the moment.
Bolster glanced from the logs back to me. “What is a meter?” he asked.
“Forgive me,” I said. “It’s our standard unit of measurement. I introduced it here because I was tired of every citizen using their own system. Nothing matched, and no one could work together properly. It’s all based on the number ten. Ten meters make a decameter, ten decameters make a centrameter, and ten centrameters make a kilometer. Going the other way, one meter divides into ten decimeters, ten decimeters into centimeters, and ten centimeters into millimeters.”
I actually had no idea if I was saying all of that correctly. I’d even had to make up what one hundred meters was called because I couldn’t remember. Hopefully no one else from Earth ever showed up to correct me.
Bolster considered that as we walked. “Does it work?”
“It does,” I said. “Everything runs much more smoothly now that everyone knows exactly what everyone else is talking about. A shoemaker can ask for a meter of leather or one hundred ten-millimeter nails, and both the tanner and the blacksmith know precisely what he means. And since everything is uniform, he may not even have to wait for the order to be filled. The blacksmith’s apprentices forge nails in batches, all to a specific length. We’ve increased our production efficiency by roughly a quarter and reduced the average time of projects by nearly a third.”
That made Bolster slow to a stop. His eyebrows crept steadily upward as the numbers settled in. “You speak of this so casually,” he said, “but it is revolutionary. The amount of coins saved over a single year would be staggering.”
“I’m glad you understand my insistence,” I replied, and we resumed our walk, the identical houses stretching on ahead of us like proof of the argument itself.
Bolster walked in silence for a few steps, his gaze still moving over the rows of buildings, before he glanced back at me. “Are other places doing this?” he asked.
“I know a few places, like Vaspar, have adopted the measurement system,” I said. “But I don’t think they’ve embraced standardization yet. I’m on good terms with the new Count Fredrick of Vaspar, but we haven’t discussed it in depth.” I paused, then snapped my fingers softly. “Oh. I nearly forgot about the Clairmont twins from Falmore. They spent a full week here with me, going over mathematics. They were incredibly excited about it all. Arnold will probably blow his top when he finds out about the standardization.”
Bolster let out a low chuckle. “I’m not familiar with the names,” he said, “but if scholars from the capital were excited, then I’m certain it’s effective.” He tilted his head thoughtfully. “I’ll introduce you to my cousin who traveled with me. She is our accountant. If you wouldn’t mind showing her what you showed them, I would be very grateful.”
“I can do that,” I said. “I’ll have her sit in with Jacklyn and Kylie. They’re both responsible for teaching the children here.” I hesitated, then added, “Our accounting system is a little different. It’s probably best to start with her immediately. I wish Liz were here—she’s helping down in Plimgus right now. She’s particularly good with numbers.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed William stiffen. His steps slowed, and his brow creased with visible discomfort.
“When you say children,” he asked carefully, “you mean… the peasantry?”
I resisted the urge to sigh. “It’s actually quite simple once you know how it works,” I said evenly. “That’s why the Clairmonts were so enthusiastic. The methods strip away the excess. It becomes clear enough that even a child can understand it.”
Bolster stopped walking. He studied my face for a long moment before speaking again. “My lord,” he said slowly, “would it be too much to ask that you teach my cousin directly? At least at first. It may be difficult for her to accept that something she has practiced for years could be taught so… plainly.”
I opened my mouth to respond—and then I laughed. I couldn’t help myself. The sound escaped before I could catch it, drawing a curious glance from passing workers.
It was the absurdity of it all. Years of study, layers of mystery, carefully guarded methods, now reduced to something children scribbled on slates without a master teaching them.
And then I froze.
The capital.
They made their living off that mystery.
I resumed walking, slower now, my thoughts no longer light. “Crap,” I muttered under my breath.
I glanced at Bolster and Will, then at the open road ahead. “I think I may need more guards,” I added quietly. “Angry mathematicians might turn out to be a serious threat after all.”
We arrived at a small camp where some of the family members of the workers stayed. Looking around, I could not find what I was looking for, but since every single person in the camp was staring at me and my guest, I took a different approach.
"Does anyone here have a YoYo?" I called out with a smile. This should entertain the kid.
General Draves
Draves stopped pacing when he heard the knock.
"Enter."
Chris stepped in without ceremony, ducking his head slightly to clear the low lintel. He looked tired, dust on his boots, cloak unfastened like he’d given up pretending this posting mattered. "You’re going to wear a trench in the floor if you keep that up, Captain."
Draves snorted. "If the floor collapses, at least something will have happened today."
Chris closed the door behind him and leaned against it. "Patrol came back. Same as yesterday. Same as the day before that."
"Nothing," Draves said flatly.
"Nothing," Vance confirmed. "No banners, no strangers, no whispers. Half the people out here barely know who rules them."
Draves folded his arms. "In a way, it's reassuring."
Chris shrugged. "It’s a border village. Sparse land. News doesn’t move fast."
"True and nice for us, but it also means we don't know what is happening."
Chris pushed off the door and crossed to the small table, pouring himself a cup of water without asking. "You really think something’s brewing?"
"Something is always brewing," Draves replied. "And for the most part, I am glad not to be a part of it."
Chris paused mid-drink. "Do you think we’re being sidelined?"
"I think we’ve been forgotten," Draves said. "Or deliberately ignored."
Chris grimaced. "That… wouldn’t surprise me."
They stood in silence for a moment. Outside, a cart rattled past on the road.
Chris broke it first. "Men are restless."
"Of course they are," Draves said. "They trained for war and were given boredom. It's not good for soldiers."
"And drunk nobles," Vance added. "I heard Tarisvale’s boys nearly stabbed each other last night."
"Heard," Draves echoed.
Chris nodded. "Just a rumor. We keep our camp separate from theirs. But word travels fast when men drink."
"It's getting worse."
Chris continued. "Not much we can do, doubled the supply watch already after the others stole our food. At least no more armor has been stolen."
Draves’s jaw tightened. "I know."
Chris lowered his voice. "You really think it’s them?"
"I don’t think," Draves said. "I’m certain."
Chris hesitated. "Their numbers are more than double ours."
"And that," Draves replied, "is why justice does not exist."
Chris let out a breath. "I hate that."
"You’ll hate worse before this is over," Draves said.
There was a long pause.
"I have an idea. I'm going to start a football tournament," Vance said.
Drave's head snapped up. "Why?"
"Well, the men are restless. They need something to do to burn off their energy other than drills. I also want to try to get the other baronies involved. Things may calm down if men have something to do."
"That or explode like one of Amos's black powder containers."
"Nah, it'll be fine. That only happens when the Kerisi team plays against Plimgus. I'm sure it will be fine." Vance said with a grin.
Chris shifted topics, sensing the wall. "Men are grateful for one thing, at least."
Draves glanced at him.
"No sickness," Vance said. "Just a few cases of the runs."
Draves’s expression softened—just slightly. "It really is amazing. And Vance, I don't think you understand how amazing half an army can be lost to illness, and we have had only had a handful of men spending extra time at the latrine. I’ve watched campaigns rot from disease without ever meeting the enemy. That it hasn’t happened here…" He trailed off.
"That's Amos for you. He opens his mouth, and the world changes."
"Chris, I thought he had gone mad when he came to me last year talking about Maggie's purified charcoal. Something every medicine woman I have ever known has used for helping cure poisons. When he found out she had it, he told me that it would save the lives of everyone in Bicman."
Chris laughed, "And now we are carrying around huge filters and washing our hands after we do anything."
There was a long pause. Both men lost in their own thoughts.
Chris took another drink. "Men are talking, though."
"About what?"
"About North Cove. About the armor. About how word’s spreading." He hesitated. "Some of the other camps are struggling. Badly."
Draves looked away, toward the window. "I should feel sympathy."
"But you don’t," Vance said gently.
"No," Draves admitted. "I don’t."
Chris nodded. "Hard to, after the thefts. After the deaths."
Silence again.
Finally, Vance said, "You miss home."
Draves didn’t answer immediately.
"...Yes."
"Something feels wrong," Vance said. "Doesn’t it?"
Draves met his eyes. "Yes."
"Like something important is happening," Vance went on, "and we’re not there to see it."
"It's not a maybe. Something is definitely happening there, and we are not there to see it." Draves said.