I'm so sorry this is late. To tell you the truth my life has been so crazy I completely forgot it was Friday. My car broke down, my whole company restructured management, and I lost the best boss I have ever had.
Chapter 22
The next two days were filled with meetings and monitoring of the village. We went over everything from the current resources available to what would be needed to grow the village to a town over the next five years. It was a great way to show Kevin how we wanted things done. He would have Saran and Elizabeth to help, but there was nothing like hands-on training.
Benjamin had been mostly quiet throughout it all. He spoke up when needed, offering sensible input, but I knew his thoughts were elsewhere. Jacklyn weighed heavily on his mind. The man was a father now, well, close enough.
Fortunately, Edward and Nancy were up in Pine Ridge with Jacklyn, which meant the two pregnant women could commiserate together and complain about their husbands in peace.
Bolster had spent a lot of time speaking with the Rabiss as they continued to gather. He was fascinated with their culture.
The county would miss the departing Rabiss. Our road crews had already been rearranged to compensate for the changes we knew were coming, but we had also lost a good number of experienced sailors.
The “Freedom” along with the mixed crew of Rabis and North Cove sailors, arrived the following morning, its hull heavy with lumber and trade goods freshly picked up from Carok. By midday, we were underway again, heading north toward the cove. I stood on deck with the others as the coastline slid past, the Rabiss ships following in a loose line behind us.
The reaction at the cove was… tense.
My people had been warned. They knew these were traders who had returned our people safely. Still, the memory of the past would linger. The Rabiss raid four months prior hadn’t faded the way anyone wished it would. Eyes watched the ships from the shore. My people's hands stayed close to tools and weapons alike.
Most of the Rabiss remained aboard for the next day while they prepared to sail again, which suited everyone just fine.
That left me dealing with the usual chaos of arrivals, and three different parties wanting goods at once.
When I finally met John at the docks, he and Bolster immediately began sizing each other up. It was subtle, almost polite. A merchant house near the capital measuring a baron of a remote county.
Fortunately, everyone remained civil. Conversation flowed easily enough, even pleasantly.
Still, something was off.
John kept looking at me.
Not my face.
His eyes would flick over my shoulders, pause at my sleeves, linger a fraction too long at my chest before darting away. When he wasn’t looking directly at me, I caught the sideways glances. As if he were trying not to stare at something he couldn’t ignore.
By the third time, my patience wore thin.
"John," I said, keeping my tone even, "might I have a word with you in private?"
For a moment, I thought he might sigh in relief.
We walked back to my home in Cove Town without speaking. Once inside, with the door shut behind us, his expression changed immediately. The merchant’s mask slipped. What replaced it was seriousness, edged with something like trepidation.
"Are you insane?" he hissed, pitching his voice low enough that no one outside could hear.
I stared at him, genuinely confused. "What?"
"What?" He pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled sharply. “‘What’ he says,” he mumbled under his breath, “Did I not warn you about your cloth?”
"You said not to sell cotton cloth it to anyone but high nobles."
He let out a slow, frustrated breath. "Then I wasn’t clear enough." His eyes lifted to me again. "Your cloth is dangerous."
I waited.
He shook his head once, as if collecting his thoughts. "Look, those men out there may not have a keen eye for cloth, but I deal with trade every day." He hesitated. "May I?"
"Sure."
He stepped closer and rubbed his fingers over my sleeve, slow and deliberate. Then his hand moved to the embroidery, tracing it lightly. His brows knit tighter with every second. Finally, he slipped a finger between the buttons, rubbing the fabric hidden beneath.
His hand stilled.
John straightened and took half a step back.
"This is even better than before. It is all too even," he said quietly. "Even the embroidery. No stutter in the pattern. No rough passes." He shook his head again. "It’s linen, but softer. You’ve added cotton, haven’t you?"
I said nothing.
"And the stitching…" He leaned in again, closer now, peering. "Finer stitch than anything I’ve ever seen. You aren’t even using the leather patches you used to strengthen it and hide stress points."
He looked up at me sharply.
"Why, Amos," he said, incredulous now, "what lunacy possessed you to wear this in public?"
"It was a gift from my weavers," I said. "I thought it looked nice."
He snorted a sharp, humorless sound. "Nice. Amos, this belongs to a king, not a count." His eyes flicked back to my sleeves. "And let me guess? You made it with one of your secret methods you refuse to share, and it took less time to produce than regular cloth."
I stayed silent.
This had been made on the Jacquard loom. It was one of my weavers’ latest creations.
John watched my expression, then closed his eyes briefly, just long enough to be a prayer or a curse.
"Endless One help you," he muttered. "You have no idea what you are shouting to the world. It is a good thing that everyone around you is deaf."
"So what do I do?"
“First, don't show this to Jarum. He has already stolen your shirt, and if a merchant in Westcove sees that shirt, he is going to come straight back here with a lot of questions. Nevermind, not if, but when. Now you have something even better. Fortunately, Jerum is shrewd enough not to upset the balance. But if the high nobles get wind of this? You may be in trouble. Hide this all away. Make sure that your peasants are getting cloth that is only slightly better than that of other peasants."
"I guess we would treat this like the paper. I was planning on doing that anyway. I just didn't realize wearing it myself would be a problem."
"You need to find a way to meet the demand that will come your way."
I frowned. "When you say demand… how much are we talking about?"
John did not answer immediately. He moved to the table, picked up a cup that had been left there earlier, then set it back down untouched, as if he needed something to do with his hands.
“That depends on who notices first,” he said finally. “Best case? The king hears whispers before he sees it. Worst case? One of the dukes or high counts sees you wearing it and decides he wants to be the first.”
He looked back at me. “Either way, you are not talking about dozens. You are talking about households.”
I waited.
“Royal household first,” he said, ticking it off on his fingers. “Not just the king. His immediate family. Ceremonial wear, formal wear, seasonal changes.” His hand tightened. “Then the ducal houses. Four of them. Each will want enough cloth to outfit themselves, their spouses, and their children. maybe they allow anyone else to wear such cloth..”
He paused, then added, “And once they have it, the upper counts will want to follow.”
“Your right. I can’t possibly tailor for—”
John shook his head sharply. “Don't even think about tailoring the cloth.”
I blinked.
“You sell bolts,” he said. “Always bolts. Let their own dealers turn it into fashion. That keeps their pride intact and keeps you from being blamed when tastes change.”
He looked me up and down. “I don’t know where you came up with this manner of outfit. But you do not have enoughinfluance to dictate the fashion on the people who will be wearing it.”
He leaned against the table, eyes unfocused now, doing sums in his head. “Plain cloth for most of it. Enough that no one can say they were slighted. Embroidery only for outer layers, trims, and ceremonial pieces.”
“How much embroidery?” I asked.
“Less than they ask for,” he replied without hesitation. “Enough to be impressive. Not enough that you’re expected to repeat it endlessly.”
He straightened. “If you try to clothe everyone fully, you will fail. If you ration the decorated cloth and provide solid plain bolts beneath it, you may succeed. You should control the pace. But if you cannot meet the demand they will come for your head.”
I considered that. “And how fast will they expect this?”
John gave a thin smile. “Immediately. Nobles always do.”
Then his expression sobered. “But merchants understand reality. You don’t promise speed. You promise priority. You tell them production takes time. You tell them quality cannot be rushed. And you never, ever give a date you can’t miss when it come so selling to nobles.”
He met my gaze again. “Whatever you think your limits are, Amos, assume demand will press against them from the moment this leaves your hands.”
He straightened, his voice dropping another degree. “ I will say it again just so we are clear, if you cannot meet that demand, the process will be ripped from you. Not negotiated for. Taken. And they will not do it gently.”
I felt my stomach tighten.
“Keep the supply limited, but available,” John continued, “and the price high enough that even nobles hesitate before asking for too much. Too scared, however, and too high a price, and they will get greedy.”
“How much per bolt?” I asked. “Plain and embroidered.”
John let out a slow breath and began pacing again. “It depends on the fiber. You have options most lords don’t.”
He held up one finger. “Plain linen bolts, good, noble-grade, should start at one gold crown per bolt. High enough to mark it as status cloth, low enough that they order it in quantity.”
A second finger. “Linen blended with cotton? Softer hand, better drape. Two to three gold crowns per bolt. Make them choose where they use it.”
A third. “Pure cotton, when you have enough of it, will be rare. Treat it as such. Four to five gold crowns per bolt, and don’t apologize for it.”
He paused, then added, “Wool stays separate. Wool buyers think differently. Price it by weight and quality, not novelty.”
“And embroidery?” I asked.
John’s mouth tightened. “That’s where you discourage excess.”
He spread his hands. “Plain bolts are the river. Embroidered bolts are the floodgates. Charge five to eight gold crowns per bolt, depending on complexity. Enough that no one orders more than they truly need. Best of all, they will expect it. They get suspicious if the price is to low. If all your embroidery is the same quality as what you are wearing, it must be set at about 20% more than other people's embroidery so that you don't push the demand too high and anger other embroiderers.”
I nodded slowly.
“This way,” John said, more quietly now, “you are not selling clothing. You are selling access — and teaching restraint at the same time.”
I began to pace. The room suddenly felt too small. I had known this would be big, but not this big. To support that many households, I would need dozens of looms and three times as many wheels just to keep the yarn flowing.
“I can’t do this alone, John,” I said. “I—”
He cut me off at once. “Amos, I really don’t want to get involved in this.” He raised a hand, not harshly, but firmly. “This has gone far beyond trade. You’re stepping straight into politics — possibly deadly politics.”
“I’ll give you a large share of the profit,” I said. “You’ve said yourself how much this is worth.”
I saw the hesitation. His jaw tightened. His gaze drifted away for a heartbeat before returning to me.
“My family would be in danger,” he said quietly. “I—”
“A title, then,” I said, the words coming faster now. “Would you do it if I could secure you a gentleman's rank?”
He went very still.
“It wouldn’t be a peerage,” I continued carefully, “I couldn't make it hereditary, although I could ask the King to allow me to grant you and your children land. It would offer you some protection and a way to move up.”
John studied me for a long moment, weighing the risk.
When he finally spoke, his voice was low. “You are asking me to bind my family’s fate to yours.”
“I am,” I said. “Because whether you want it or not, we are already in this together.” I hesitated, then added, “There is the Apple Jack… and other things.”
He froze.
The words took a moment to settle, and when they did, his color drained. Slowly, he looked back at me.
“What other things,” he said quietly, “what have you done?”
I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. “Why go in for a penny when you can go in for a crown?”
He studied my face again, longer this time. Measuring the depth of the water he was about to step into.
Finally, he nodded once.
“Tell me everything, Amos,” he said. “Absolutely everything.” His jaw set. “I will swear myself to secrecy, and if I don’t turn around and walk away, I will move my family to North Cove and tie my fate to yours.”
"Alright, let me go gather a few things, and we can take a look at how much trouble we are in."
******
"We are in so much trouble, Amos.”
Those were the first words out of John’s mouth after I finished explaining the properties of spring steel and the fact that I could make steel knives faster and more consistently than most masters.
“I know.”
“Amos,” he said, staring at the table, “you made a kitchen knife out of something only a noble should be able to afford.” His gaze fixed on the three knives I’d given Cookie for her birthday.
“I know.”
“Amos,” he said again, lower now, “they will kill you for this secret.”
“I know.”
He studied my face, then asked, “But nobody knows about this?”
“It’s highly restricted,” I said. “Everything is made in the secure location I told you about. A few items are in use around North Cove, but if something isn’t kept at the place they are made, the people involved are sworn to secrecy.”
John exhaled slowly. “We can work with that.”
Then his expression hardened. “But we have to make people believe it’s scarce. Nothing larger than a dagger leaves here. Very small quantities. Enough to convince them you have a master craftsman — but not one who can do this consistently.”
“So ship out small amounts of the good steel mixed with lesser pieces,” I said.
“Exactly.” He paused. “How good is your security?”
“Only the best and most loyal,” I replied. “Everyone who works there wears a distinct uniform. There are identification checks at the gate. Not even messengers are allowed inside.”
He nodded once. “Good.”
Then his eyes sharpened. “Cloth. Steel. Paper. Books. What else?”
After John said he would help me, I gathered everything I could lay my hands on that I had not seen elsewhere. I pulled out a length of lace about the size of my forearm from the satchel. I wasn't able to grab everything. Some things were still up in Pine Ridge.
"Well, we do have this, I don't know the value of it."
As I laid it out on the table, John whistled.
"It's beautiful, what is it?"
Well, that confirmed it. If John had never seen lace before, then it didn't exist yet.
"I call it lace. It is done by a method we developed called crochet. Can you tell me what it is worth?
John lifted it slightly, examining the weave. “That depends on how long it took to make and the material. This appears to be your cotton.”
"Right, it actually is pretty fast. I don't know about this particular one. It takes a practiced woman about half an hour, I believe, maybe longer.
"So it is beautiful but cheap to make," John muttered. "Novel at first, but…how many people know about this?"
"Pretty much every woman in North Cove knows about crocheting; it can be used to make multiple things. Yarbeth has probably seen it and spread it to his father. At least, if he isn't an idiot and so blind that he refuses to see a good opportunity. Frederick Vaspar saw it, but he is such a meat head that he couldn't really see the value."
"So novel for now but not for long."
"The lace does take some time to make, but it isn't hard to learn. We used to make a lot of other things with it until the women invented knitting. Then they switched to that."
"Before we get on to whatever knitting is. Let's be clear on this. I don't think this will cause any major problems. It is new and different. It is fast to learn and make, but takes some skill. I would say this will sell nicely. We can raise the price to start, but when people learn that it can be made by their own people and how to make it is not a secret, it will start to cost the same as adding nice buttons to clothing."
"Good, at least I don't have to worry about losing my head over it."
John snorted. "I am still wondering how long that will last. Now explain this knitting thing to me."
I smiled. Better to show you. "Take off your boots." I stood up and said, "And take off those stupid udones."
They didn’t have socks here, just udones, rigid linen sacks for the feet with no stretch at all, leaving a person to spend the day adjusting them while their thick seams tried to see through their heels. They sucked. The only other alternative was wraps.
John looked at me in confusion, but started to do as I said. Meanwhile, I went to my room and pulled out a pair of socks.
I handed them to him, and he slowly turned them over in his hand. "These are made of wool, but they feel odd."
He went to put them on, but as he was about to, he paused. "This… Stretches. Amos, this is very strange." He slid the sock all the way up and wiggled his toes.
He slid on his boot and stared at it. "This is very comfortable. Please tell me you have enough of these to send home with me."
"Don't worry, you will be the envy of Carok," I said with a grin.
"Amos, I am a merchant. I don't want to wear them, I want to sell them. Once someone realizes how comfortable they are, I could sell them for a silver crown a piece."
I laughed.
"What is so funny?"
"Women here buy the yarn and make them on their own. If they do get sold, it is for about one and a half to two silver pennies a pair. I think we totaled it as about five copper worth of yarn and a day's work to make a pair. But the women who make them do it while they are watching children or tending to the fire. Something to keep their hands busy."
"Amos, are you telling me that the women here all know how to make these?"
I scratch my beard. "Uh, there are probably around thirty women who are good at it. And the rest are learning. If you wander around, you will see them outside their homes occasionally, knitting."
He nodded. "So a pair a day. Thirty women and I can probably manage to stay for 20 days."
"Hold up. I said it would take a whole day to make them. These women have other things to do, so it is usually split up over a few days. We are just finishing harvesting the wool, so material isn't a problem, but we are short on labor."
"Whatever you can give me. I will price the scarcity to match."
"If you're doing that, then you will want to take as much lace as you can get to. It will look excellent on hems.
"What about the price? With what you have told me, it is not a hard skill to learn."
"True, but it takes a lot of thread and time to make something, so small things are best. Unless you are me, of course, and waste your women's time by making them create you a shirt?"
"A shirt? Of this? I need to see it."
"I can show you a similar one, but not an exact copy of what I had. Jerum took the other one." I said apologetically. "I really miss my cotton T-shirt."
"So if Jerum knows of knitting."
"No, I told him a little lie, said I bought it off a merchant and would see if I could get the merchant to go to West Cove."
"He probably knows you're lying." John shook his head. "I swear, Amos. If your people didn't need to eat, I would tell you to stop having them farm your land and get everyone creating cloth."
"That is my goal."
That got me a confused look from him.
"I want to produce so much goods that I have some towns where the only thing their residents do is keep a private garden. Then they can spend their days making things that produce a lot of income and buy the food at a slightly higher price, allowing the farmers to afford more things as well. That is a very simplified way of putting it, and most likely idealized, but it is my dream."
John shook his head. "I am starting to feel that I am in over my head, and that is a new feeling for me. Tell me a bit more about the process of knitting so we can plan for how we will handle its spread across the country. We don't want angry nobles knocking on your door."