Baron Sophis left the morning after we reached Plimgus, his entourage continuing on toward Ridgeland. I watched them go for a moment from the manor steps, the dust of the road lingering in the air behind them, before turning back to the business at hand.
I spent the next few days moving from village to village across Plimgus.
Whenever possible, I chose to ride horseback rather than take the carriage. The roads were little more than packed dirt, uneven in places where cart wheels had worn deep grooves into the earth. The air carried the familiar mix of livestock, damp soil, and woodsmoke, and more than once I had to move aside to let a cart pass or avoid a group of children who froze at the sight of me before scrambling out of the way.
I met with every headman I could find.
Most of the meetings took place at rough wooden tables, sometimes inside dim buildings where the only light came through narrow shutters, and other times outside with the wind tugging at our cloaks and scattering loose papers if we weren’t careful. I listened as they outlined their concerns. Poor soil in one place, broken tools in another, a shortage of labor somewhere else. When I spoke, I found myself trying to guide the conversation toward solutions rather than worries and excuses.
I also encouraged them to think about how their villages could grow and improve, not just survive from one season to the next.
What I loved the most was seeing that the idea of town hall meetings was starting to take root. In several villages, I saw only stumps arranged in rough circles and small collections of notes being kept—some written neatly, others barely legible, but all of them were attempts to record what had been discussed. Those notes were being sent back to Plimgus along with the regular reports, something that would not have been possible without the monthly stipend of paper each headman received.
It was far from perfect, but it was working well enough to build on.
******
By the time I finally returned to the manor for more than a few hours at a time, it was late in the evening.
The study was dim, lit only by two candles that flickered in unison with the draft coming through the shutters. Their light stretched across the desk in uneven shadows, catching the edges of stacked reports and the ink stains that had built up over the past few days.
I sat there, slightly hunched over, reading through a message that had just been sent from Hillside. The rest of the Plimgus reports I had been working through lay off to the side, forgotten for the moment.
“Looks like we will have a good cotton crop in Bicman this year.” I handed the letter to Benjamin, who adjusted his new pair of glasses and brought it closer to the light.
He took it carefully and leaned in, angling the page so the candlelight fell across the writing. The lenses caught the glow for a moment before he shifted again, trying to get a clearer look. Anti-glare lenses, that's what he needed. I help back a chuckle at my own lame joke.
“A shame Yarbeth is going to profit from it, though,” Benjamin said.
“At least we are getting it cheap.” I stretched my legs out under the table, my boots scraping lightly against the floor as I leaned back in my chair. My back protested the movement, reminding me just how long I had been sitting.
“Just remember, that won’t last forever.”
“Not from him, but the fields in Plimgus should be producing in a year or two, and that will cover our needs. It is funny to say this, but cotton really isn’t our main concern anyways.”
My thoughts drifted as I spoke, pulling me away from the room for a moment.
I had been thinking about the possibility of building a hot air balloon again. I didn’t know if cotton would work for it, but I was fairly certain hemp would be too heavy. It was the kind of idea that would take time, resources, and more people than I currently had, and right now, all of those were already committed elsewhere.
Better fields, ships, and steel mattered more.
I reached up and scratched at my beard, the motion absentminded. “That reminds me, we got a group of twelve families sent to us from Jarum recently. I met them, but I haven’t followed up. How are they doing?”
Benjamin lowered the letter slightly and looked at me over the rim of his glasses, his expression somewhere between curiosity and mild confusion.
“I don’t know how cotton in Plimgus reminded you of the new people, but to answer your question, they have been here less than a Tenday, so as far as I know, they are doing well. Time will tell. I do know that the Engineers who have had experience in draining fields were very impressed with our survey instruments nd techniques. They are quickly becoming familiar with the methods and have all joined a private mathematical class led by our chief surveyor,” Benjamin said.
I leaned forward again, resting my forearms on the desk as a faint smile crossed my face.
“To answer your question, because my mind is running in a million different directions, and it was my internal monologue that reminded me, not the last subject.”
Benjamin set the letter down on the desk, smoothing it with his fingertips as if to keep it from curling in the candle heat. He did not reach for the next report. Instead, he looked back up at me.
“I see. Do we know how we are going to integrate the rest of the people he sent? Some of them are very skilled and fit in with the important projects you are working on.”
I shifted in my chair, the wood creaking faintly under my weight as I stretched, trying to get the annoying kink out of my back, then forward again, resting my elbows on the table.
“The issue is loyalty. We will integrate them into North Cove, and eventually, they will hear about an exclusive group that meets to discuss things without letting them know what they discuss or that it concerns secret projects. It is basic psychology. They will want to know what they are missing out on and work hard to get the information by performing better. It might also root out spies.”
Benjamin folded his hands in front of him on the desk, thumbs pressing together as he considered that.
“It sounds manipulative.”
“A little bit. And it sucks that I have to resort to it, but I am not willing to put everyone here at risk just because I don’t want to add a little psychological pressure.”
He gave a small nod, though it was slower than usual.
“If it makes you feel better, you aren’t lying to them or harming them anyway, you are just dangling a carrot in front of them.”
I let out a quiet breath through my nose, a smile forming on my lips.
“A good way to put it. Still feels salesy." I gave a slight frown. "And really, they aren’t the ones I am worried about.”
Benjamin’s brow furrowed. He tilted his head just a fraction, his expression shifting to understanding.
“Erica?”
I nodded slowly, my fingers coming up to drag down along my beard.
“The closer I get to the date of my impending marriage, the less I can ignore it. I am not going to be able to keep everything from her. Will she sell every idea we produce to the highest bidder before we are able to capitalize on them?”
“We have our own network of people to sell the products to. Jarum, Bolster, Sophis, and your cousin.”
I exhaled again, longer this time, my shoulders dropping as I stared up toward the ceiling for a moment before bringing my gaze back down.
“The products are not the problem. It is the ideas. We are dealing with low-level barons and commoners. The people who are going to try to strong-arm me are counts, dukes, and the royals. And they will want everything. Especially since there is no way to meet the demand of 20 to 30 thousand nobles.”
Benjamin paused for a moment, thinking through my words.
“You are spiralling. We already have a plan. I think it will work.”
“It will. My concern is whether we will have enough time. The noose is tightening faster now that the knowledge of the armor is out.”
“We are in the middle of a war. Nobles are focused on glory and fulfilling their oaths. The pressure will not really start until the campaigning season is over, and by that time you will be in the capital.”
I leaned forward again, elbows returning to the desk, my hands clasping loosely together as I looked down at them.
“We will have to see how much support I can get.”
“That may depend on whether you have something new to show them.”
“Why do I need to show them something new. Sophis said they are already calling me Sage of the North.” I spat the title out like a cuss word.
“Because also some will believe the others, more will want proof. If they think that you are all out of ideas. That they have everything that you have to offer, or that you didn’t actually come up with any of the stuff that makes you the Sage of the North, you won’t get their support.”
“I don’t want to be the Sage of the North. I’m no sage,” I said petulantly. “It’s almost as bad as the religious titles.”
“You can’t have it both ways. You cannot gain all the political support you need and not have something they want. And the title, however much you dislike it, fits you very well. A sage is a person who has knowledge and wisdom beyond a normal person, and that is exactly what you have.”
The thought sat heavy in my chest. He was right, it was the way to gain the political power I needed. But that didn’t mean I had to like it. I shifted in my seat, my mouth pulling into a slight frown as I stared at the scattered reports in front of me.
I just couldn’t see myself as a politician. The idea of navigating other nobles, trying to win them over while wondering which of them would stab me in the back the moment it benefited them, was something I kept pushing away whenever it surfaced.
I dragged my hand across the table, pulling one of the reports closer.
“Let’s move on to the other reports. Barring any unforeseen circumstances, this year's harvest should be good for everything else. I am quite disappointed that I have to leave right after harvest. I wanted to be there when we start experimenting to get the molasses taste out of the pootba.”
Benjamin picked up another sheet, straightening it before glancing back at me.
“You will be back in the spring and be able to see all the things your people have accomplished while you were gone,” Benjamin said.
“I know,” I said, waving him off with a small flick of my hand. “Don’t worry about it. I have just been spoiled in my past life. If I didn’t have something I felt I needed or wanted, I could quickly get it from anywhere in the world. Even things that were out of season. Most things, anyway. It makes me impatient. This is probably all good for me.”
Benjamin paused with the paper in his hands, studying me for a moment before giving a faint shake of his head.
“The more I learn of your past world, the more it amazes me.”
“It is the future of this world as well. Though I do not know when and I do not know if advancing civilization faster will do more harm than good.”
“Right, now you are doing good for this county and its people. I don’t think anyone can demand more than that of you.”
I sighed. “We shall see. Speaking of doing good, I believe we are done for tonight. Between Kevin, Saran, and Elizabeth, I think they have all their ducks in a row here. We will head to Malcomp in the morning and see how things are.”
With that, we gathered up the papers, blew out the candles, and left the study. All was well in Plimgus.
*****
My visit to Malcomp went much the same as it did for Plimgus. The books were in order, and the people were prospering. The educational standards were lacking, but that would work itself out once the barony was producing more food per capita, and he saw how Plimgus was outperforming him.
The real problem arose when I told him that we were bringing the troops home from the field.
The granite face of Baron Malcomp turned into a frown. “The House of Malcomp does not run from a fight.”
I ground my teeth, trying to find the right words to say without calling this prideful man a complete idiot. “I understand where you are coming from. I will not stop you from sending a letter to your sons and telling them to stay. These are your people, and under the law, you are responsible for them. The men of Plimgus, Bicman, and under my jurisdiction in the North, however, will be returning. In my opinion, our men were sent out in violation of the orders given to my family by the king, and that is being rectified. I would have them stay if they were fighting our true enemies, but they are being attacked by the people of our own country and having their property plundered. There is no honor when you have to defend yourself against those who should be your allies. Perhaps your men can stand against the thousands of people other nobles set to the front line, but I imagine that they will be killed, and it will be blamed on the enemy.” I crossed my arms. “Again, you may write the letter if you wish, but I would recommend waiting a couple of days. I will give you a pigeon to send to Vaspar if you need it forwarded quickly, but I imagine you have a better way through Yarbeth.”
He nodded. “I will do as you say.”
I left the study so that I wouldn’t say anything I might regret. Stubborn fool. Technically, I had no right to call back the people of Bicman either, since they were under Baron Yarbeth, but because I was the one who sent them out, I didn’t bother telling him the news. If he wanted to send them back, it would be too late. The campaign season would be over, and he would need to wait for spring. I had just introduced a law that stated that any serf who served faithfully in the army could be recommended by their superior officer and given peasant status by the count.
This would allow them to move to Hillside and work in our factories rather than be sent back to war only to have themselves killed for their armor. Hopefully, that problem will be relieved by next year after my discussions with the king.
The factories of Hillside were the first step towards creating a nonagricultural community. One of the things the canal was designed for was hydropower. All along the mountainside, starting from Hillside and working our way up to Pine Ridge. The infrastructure for future water wheels was being built. Designs for the three main export factories were being created and reworked as the Reality Benders enhanced their mathematical skills. I was trying to increase it at a steady pace so that they had the foundations down before we moved on.
Sugar, cloth, ropes, planks, paper, and armor, these were going to be our first factories. The goal would be to produce as much as we could as fast as we could. The edge we had was being first to market. Everything would spread quickly, and we would have competitors eventually. We needed that schooner.
We also need a way to secure licenses in other places. Similar to what we did with the books. It was time to meet with Fredick again. Time to create the Vaspar publishing house.
Greg
Greg rubbed his aching side. His hip was giving out just like his father's had. In a few years, he wouldn’t be able to work the land. And then what? His son's wife had died last year, leaving the man with four children. Greg's wife had taken care of them the best she could, and Greg and his son had worked the fields. What was he going to do once he couldn’t work? Steal the food from the children? He would probably try to avoid eating as much as he could. The boys were already starting to work the field alongside his son. They would need the strength. He sat on the stump looking out at the fields his family had shared with his neighbors since before he was born. He was the only one left of the boys who had grown up with him. When would the Endless one take him?
One of his Grandsons looked up at him from where he was pulling stubborn weeds. He paused for a moment and then said something to their father. Greg’s son got up and headed quickly towards him. What was that all about?
Then he heard footsteps from behind. Turning around, he looked up just in time to see a large man walking along the path out of the treeline. A red scarf fluttered in the wind. Greg stared at the sight, trying to rationalize what he was seeing. Had he already died, or was he going mad in his old age? What was a young man in a Count’s Scarf doing here?
As the man got closer, he finally realized that he was just sitting there gaping at a noble. He could be putting his whole family at risk. He moved as quickly as he could off the stump and prostrated himself. His son knelt beside him, and Greg was sure that those in the field had all done the same.
Fear clenched his heart. A noble had come to Jansvale. No, not just a noble. A count. A high noble.
Greg heard a deep, exasperated sigh. “You may all stand up. Rick helped the old man back onto the stump. There is no need to have him throw out his back.”
“Of course, my lord.”
Greg felt a hand grip him under the arm and guide him back to the stump.
“Now, since you are the oldest one here, I assume you are old man Greg,” the Young noble asked as a smile spread wide across his face.
Old Man Greg, that is what all the kids in the village called him. To have a count call him Old Man Greg made him want to laugh. At least he knew how he had been found. “I am, my lord. How may I assist you?”
The boy's grin grew even wider as if he had been waiting for that very reply.
“Ah, my good man Greg, it is not what you can do for me, it is what I can do for you. A while back, you came across a man named John who had been beaten and left on the side of the road. You nursed him back to health and shared what little you had with him.”
“I-I did, my lord. But, forgive me, I do not understand. He said he was a traveling merchant who was robbed on the road.”
“He is, but the idiot is also my favorite cousin.”
The young count paused, then looked at his men. “None of you is to mention that to Catherine… or Elizabeth, for that matter. Well, you can mention the part about him being an idiot, but not the part about him being my favorite. If I hear a word about it, I will deny everything and put you all on latrine duty.”
There was a long pause where only the wind in the trees could be heard. Then the man continued. “Anyways, idiot or not, I am in your debt, and so I have come to repay that debt. Since you are already a Freeman, I can't ask Fready to elevate your station. So this is what I came up with. For the rest of your life, you will receive thirty silver pennies a month to do with as you please.”
Greg's son gasped.
“Next, I will be sending a tutor to this village to educate your family and anyone else you would like in your community to the level of a scholar. And lastly, any descendant of yours up to the fourth generation will have free admittance into the North Cove Academy once it is up and running. Assuming they pass the entrance exam.”
There was silence for a moment, during which nobody spoke. What was there to say? A man had just come up to him and said that he would be given the wage of a laborer for the rest of his life and that his children would be educated. Greg didn’t know what an academy was, but if it was being provided by a noble, it must be a good thing.
All Greg could do was stare up at the young man. A lump in his throat.
Then the count's face scrunched up, and Greg thought that he was displeased because Greg hadn’t said anything. He opened his mouth to speak when the lord cut him off. “You know what this place needs, Rick. A Bicman Plow. Remind me to send a plow and two oxen with enough feed to last the next year here. He could probably rent out the plow oxen to his neighbors after he plows his own fields next year.”
Turning back to Greg, he gave another big smile and said, “Well, I would love to stay. John says that your wife makes an excellent wheat mash, but it took us longer to find you than we expected. Rick, please hand him the three silver crowns and the documentation we prepared concerning all this.”
It wasn’t until the count had faded into the forest that Greg turned to his son. “Who was that?”
There was a long pause before his son looked back at him. “I think that was Count Bicman or North Cove.”
The eldest of his grandsons spoke up. Shattering the silence that had fallen over them like a blanket. “Did he really just call Count Vaspar, Fready?”
Greg turned to his grandson, still not able to fathom what had just occurred. “I-I believe he did.”