“Lady and gentlemen,” I said. Addressing Emily and the other members of North Cove lessee nobility. “Let us proceed with the monthly reports.
"Let us discuss our business ventures. Lady Emily, please report on the paper production.”
Emily stood, smoothing the front of her dress before speaking with measured confidence.
“The second paper mill has been doing well, my lord. As you know, the other mill relies primarily on hemp, which produces a strong, flexible pulp with relatively little effort. We are also using hemp due to its… renewability. However, due to current limitations in hemp cultivation, we have begun processing wood as an alternative raw material.”
She clasped her hands behind her back, posture straight. She took a moment to scan the knights and other craftsmen invited.
“To support this shift, we have organized dedicated logging teams. Trees are being felled in controlled sections of forest to ensure sustainability. The timber is then transported to the mill, where it undergoes stripping, cutting, and soaking before it can even begin to resemble usable pulp. This has allowed us to greatly expand our raw material supply, though it comes with notable challenges.”
Her expression tightened slightly.
“Wood is far more difficult to process than hemp. It is tougher, requiring significantly more labor and time to break down. Where hemp can be retted and beaten into pulp with relative ease, wood must be chipped, soaked for extended periods, and pounded repeatedly to separate the fibers. This increases wear on our equipment and demands more water, more laborers, and more maintenance.”
She glanced briefly toward me before continuing.
“Despite these difficulties, the scale of available timber has allowed us to increase overall production. While each unit of wood pulp requires more effort, it is what we need to keep up with demand. As a result, total output from the second mill will supplement the first for the months until our next harvest.”
Emily allowed herself a small, controlled breath.
“Looking ahead, we project a threefold increase in total paper production over the next year. This estimate assumes continued expansion of the hemp field, and then transitioning or second workshop back to hemp.”
I interrupted her. “How is the conveyor system working out?”
“It’s…a work in progress. I believe that in the next month or two, it will surpass our current stack-pressing method. The sheets that it does produce are more uniform.”
I scanned the table, noting some looks of confusion. “This is an offshoot of the roller mill idea that a few of you have been working with. I recommend you all stop by the new workshop to take a look, but it is basically a way to press out the water continuously rather than waiting to make a stack.” Looking briefly at Emily, I said, “ Apparently, it also makes a more uniform sheet.”
She nodded her head slightly in agreement.
“In summary, while wood processing presents greater challenges than hemp, it has enabled rapid expansion. With continued refinement, we believe this mill will become the foundation of a much larger paper industry within North Cove.
“This increase will allow us to fully support the playing card project without straining existing supply lines. In fact, we expect to produce a surplus, which may be allocated toward additional ventures—such as the trading cards.”
Emily straightened, awaiting my response.
“Excellent presentation, Lady Paper.” Benjamin and a few scribes had helped her to put it together, and I know she had been practicing speaking in front of a mirror, as I suggested. She has been getting better each time she presents. We’ll make a CEO out of her yet.
“I think that is a perfect transition into Edward's portion of the meeting,” I said, holding up a single card between my fingers before passing it forward. “Edward, if you would.”
Edward rose from his seat, already holding a small stack of cards and several loose sheets. Unlike Emilies hesitation, there was no uncertainty in his posture—only the restrained excitement of a man who had wrestled with a problem and come out on top.
“My lord, ladies, gentlemen,” he began, giving a respectful nod to the table. “What you see before you is the result of several months of trial, error, and no small amount of frustration.”
He lifted one of the cards, turning it so all could see.
“The production of playing cards proved far more complex than initially expected. A single sheet of paper was insufficient. It lacked the proper weight, flexibility, and durability. The cards would bend too easily and wear out far too quickly. To solve this, we developed a layered construction.”
He held up three thin sheets.
“Each card is made of three layers. The back is printed first, followed by a thicker central sheet to provide rigidity, and finally the face. Each layer is printed separately using the new etched plates, then left to dry before assembly.”
Edward set the sheets down and gestured as if aligning them.
“Once dried, the layers are bonded using wheat paste. Alignment is critical, any misplacement results in a warped or unusable card. After assembly, the sheets are pressed to ensure proper adhesion.”
He paused, allowing that to settle before continuing.
“It was here that we encountered one of our greatest challenges. Traditional pressing methods were inconsistent. Some cards warped, others came appart. To address this, we introduced a secondary pressing method that Lord Amos suggested—roller compression.”
A faint smile touched his lips.
“Using paired rollers—crafted from seasoned oak—we pass the sheets through under controlled pressure. Achieving the correct tolerances between the rollers was… difficult. Too tight, and the sheets are damaged. Too loose, and the layers fail to bind properly. However, after extensive adjustment, we have achieved a consistent finish.”
He lifted a finished card and flicked it lightly. I wonder if he got his showmanship from growing up as the son of a Tavern owner?
“The result is a card with the proper feel; firm, but flexible. Durable enough for repeated use. Once Lady Emily has figured out the conveyor system, we will most likely transition to that.”
Edward set down the card, warming into his explanation.
“After pressing, the sheets are left to dry once more before being cut. We use a steel-edged cutter for uniform sizing, followed by a secondary tool to round the corners. This reduces wear and improves handling.”
He held up a full set now, fanned slightly.
“I had changed the card deck slightly. The hierarchy begins with the King, followed by the Duke, Count, and Baron. Beneath them are the numbered cards, Ace through nine. So there was no longer a ten. The suits remain consistent—hearts, diamonds, clubs, and spades.
He allowed a brief pause.
“We have also established three distinct grades of product.”
He raised a finger.
“The lowest grade is produced using a single ink—black—and lower-quality paper. These are inexpensive and intended for common use. They will wear more quickly but can be sold for only a few silver pennies, making them accessible to a wide market.”
A second finger.
“The middle grade uses higher-quality paper and introduces a second printing pass for red ink. This allows better differentiation of suits and improves both clarity and visual appeal.”
And finally, a third.
“The highest grade is our premium product. These cards utilize four layers instead of three, along with multiple inks for enhanced detail. The result is a significantly more durable and visually refined deck. These will be sold for between three and five silver crowns.”
Edward set the cards down carefully.
“With the increased paper production Lady Emily has outlined, we now have the capacity to scale this operation. The playing card project is no longer experimental. It has become commercially viable.”
"Commercially viable" is a term I introduced. The new buzzword. Also I may have just introduced the Earth symbol for heart into this world. This will inevitably lead to emojis in the future which will probably earn me a special place in hell. Ok, they probably aren't as bad as me introducing a new way to gamble.
He looked toward me briefly, then back to the room.
“In time, this product will not only generate revenue but also establish North Cove as the sole producer of a completely new form of entertainment. Projections for next year's sales are estimated at 1000 gold crowns if Amos is able to get the nobles in the capital to start buying them over the winter. Future growth will most likely cap at 5000 Gold crowns per year.”
He bowed his head slightly.
“That concludes my report.”
The playing card company, as well as the future trading card company, was going to very well.
I inclined my head slightly. “Thank you, Edward. That was thorough.”
I turned my attention to the far side of the table. “Brian, if you would. Let us hear about the armor production.”
Brian rose, a thick-shouldered man who was not at all comfortable being here, but he carried himself with growing confidence after each meeting. I had been coaching all my supervisors so that, while I was away, they could carry out the monthly meetings without my presence.
“My lord, ladies, gentlemen,” he began, bowing briefly. “I will report on the production of our composite cloth armor.”
He clasped his hands behind his back. Fidgeting with them where no one could see them.
“Of the seven waterwheels currently operating along the canal, two have been dedicated entirely to armor production. These drive the triphammers and presses used in compressing the layered cloth. Without them, our output would be… significantly lower.”
He paused, choosing his words carefully.
“As my lord commanded, fifty sets of this armor were sent to the king as a gesture of goodwill, along with a statement that we had developed a method for producing high-quality protective gear.”
A faint hint of amusement crossed my face.
“The response we received was…What our lord called a polite demand. The king has requested additional shipments. He has offered twenty silver crowns per set.”
Brian looked down at a sheet. “Our current production cost per set is approximately two silver crowns. Even with all the expenses our profit is…” He looked down at the sheet again. “Roughly tenfold.”
A murmur ran through the room.
“We shipped two hundred and fifty sets last week as an initial fulfillment. That shipment served both as proof of our ability to meet demand.”
That was the important thing to me. As Baron Sophis had said, if we couldn’t meet the demand everything would be taken from us.
He shifted his stance slightly.
“Now that the infrastructure is in place and the workers have been trained, projections from the scholars indicate that we will reach a production rate of one thousand sets per month within the next few months.”
One thousand sets, with a profit of 18 silver crowns, was a little over 21,000 gold a year. If we could hold onto it. With our other projects, we would be competing with the dukes for income. What I really needed was a specialist for turning gold into political influence and power. Brian’s next words brought me back to the present.
“The primary bottleneck is not the pressing or assembly process, but the production of cloth itself.”
He flushed. “Don’t get me wrong, the women in the weaving shops are doing amazing. It's the importing of hemp that is slowing us down.”
We had been importing a lot more than just food recently. Raw materials were needed until we increased our own production numbers.
He straightened slightly, his tone firming.
“In summary, the composite armor program is stable, profitable, and…” He looked down at his sheet again. “Commercially viable. With additional investment in cloth production, we will not only meet the king’s demands but position ourselves as the primary supplier of armor within the region.”
Brian bowed his head.
“Thank you, Brian. Let's get a report on the mining,” I said, while turning to the Forman.
We went around the room, touching on each of our industries.
We were slowly pulling people away from farming in Hillside and putting them to work in our industrial areas and military service.
At first, I resisted the idea. The need for independence was a huge concern for me. What finally convinced me, though, was all the reports of crop failure. The land around the cove was not going to be suitable for crops for at least three to five years, even with the excellent drainage we were achieving. The people Jarum had sent said that, first, the land would become mud flats, and then we needed to churn the soil to let out the bad air and introduce new air into the earth.
So we had to pivot. After running through a lot of cost analysis and with our low population, it was determined that it would cost less to import the food rather than produce it. This was mostly thanks to the roads and ships we had.
Even the new people were being used. We did our best to vet them, and we had a strict monitoring process on who was allowed to do what. For example, paper making was highly guarded, with workers being long-term citizens; however, anyone could scrib or bind books. Though the spinning wheel was tightly controlled, the shuttle loom was far too complex, with many components hidden from view, so even those we trained would only be able to say we used a different type of loom. Replicating it without the high-tolerance pieces we were making would be impossible. Also, there was no reason to sell out; everyone was also paid well.
The rumor someone started about an individual who stole information and sold it was never given the money they were owed. In fact, the rumor expanded to the individual being killed, so they couldn’t share it with anyone else. I didn’t like false rumors, and I felt a little guilty for not stopping this one, but for all I knew, it was true. The fact that it benefited me also played into it.
We were also paying our soldiers well. With Baron Yarbeth bringing in men, we were increasing recruitment for our North Cove Defense Force among our own people.
We were bringing in a lot of extra food. To stave off any future supply issues, we would eventually sail around the Barren Lands to make contact with the continent. If we could get goods from there, then even if we couldn’t get supplies from Falmore, we could get them from other countries.
It wasn’t just grains. We were grabbing livestock as well as raw material we could process into finished goods. The cost of importing wool, hemp, and flax at this time of year was low, so we were buying full shipments.
With the revenue coming in from West Cove, Carok, and Vaspar, we were slowly accumulating wealth. By the time I arrived in the capital, I wanted to have enough that we could not be ignored.
The additional water mills along the canal enabled us to expand our manufacturing line-up. The latest invention was a multithread spilling wheel. Absolutely fascinating when it worked. Like many of our prototypes, it had a ways to go, but that was how progress worked. The issue was that, unlike the single-person spinning wheel. With the new device were were getting inconsistent thread thickness, and lines would break. Why did the women want this? They wanted to move more of their people to the looms. They received production bonuses.
And yes, the women were in charge. It was mainly older women or women who had lost their husbands and weren’t taken in by another man, so they had to support their children. I had even suggested a day care where they rotated taking care of each other's children. So we had plenty of widows.
And why did we need so much cloth? The armor. According to our estimates, if we were able to produce only 30% of our own food, the total cost of feeding our entire population in Cove Town, Hillside, and Pine Ridge would be 2000 Gold Crown per year. A number that, in a couple of years, could be supported by the playing card business alone.
King Lenord Asput
The study door creaked open, and the king’s uncle, Duke Norris Falmore, strode in. A thin, knowing smile spread across the aging man’s face, etched into the weary lines of his cheeks.
King Lenord sat slumped in his high-backed chair. The sight of his uncle’s expression brought a momentary reprieve, but it did not lift the weight pressing down on his shoulders. The war with Turabe was like a beast; it had already swallowed the southern territories and, with them, the legacy Lenord had sacrificed his youth to build. He had envisioned himself the conqueror of the peninsula; instead, he was trying to hold onto what remained.
He looked toward the window, where the cold, grey light of afternoon struggled to pierce the clouds. If only his heir were made of firmer stuff, he might have abandoned this crown for the quiet of his suburban villa. But the boy was a fool—a product of the soft, pampered court life Lenord had foolishly thought would keep his children safe. Now, his sons were strangers who spent their days idly. If only he could outlive his sons, his grandson could take the throne.
“Your brooding, Nephew,” Norris said, his voice a smooth, rhythmic cadence that usually cut through Lenord's gloom.
Lenord looked up. Despite being his uncle, Norris was the younger man, and the reminder usually sparked camaraderie between them. Today, Lenord only let out a long, ragged exhale.
“I am beginning to tire, Uncle,” Lenord murmured, rubbing his temples where a headache throbbed behind his eyes. “But you seem to have good news for me, so let’s hear it.”
Norris stepped closer, his heavy velvet cloak swaying with his gait. “A shipment of two hundred and fifty sets of Count Bicman’s armor has arrived.”
Lenord’s brow furrowed, his fingers stilling on the armrest. “That is a lot of Armor. How can he possibly make that much in such a short time? Did he send us something cheaper?”
“It was sent with a note saying that this is the latest batch. He says it is superior.”
Lenord sat up, a sharp, cynical arch forming in his eyebrow. He leaned forward, the leather of his chair groaning under the shift in weight. “And that look on your face—I assume you can confirm his assertions?”
“The armor is thinner, yet significantly more durable.”
Lenord’s breath hitched. He stared at his uncle, his expression shifting from skepticism to genuine, startled shock. “How?”
Norris flashed a tight, wry smile, his shoulders lifting in a slight shrug. “If we knew that, we wouldn’t need the boy.”
Lenord let out a sharp, hollow scoff, leaning back into the shadows. “You certainly don’t believe that.”
“No, I don’t.”
“So, with the testing so far, give me a comparison to what we currently have.”
Norris took a step toward the desk, resting his palms on the polished wood. “The General says it sits somewhere between bronze scale and plate—closer to scale. The scholars estimate that to manufacture equivalent quality in bronze, it would take a year of labor and cost ten times the price.”
Lenord nodded, the tension in his jaw slackening just a fraction. “And we are paying him the price of leather armor. How will this affect the tin crisis?”
“This is the crux of it,” Norris said, his eyes sharpening. “With the loss of the vassal kingdoms, we lost half our supply. But our military was already shifting to iron weapons, but still, that only left a tenth of our tin for bronze armor. Bicman’s arrival is a miracle of timing; his supply will almost offset the entirety of our armor production costs.”
“So, in the end, it still does not cover our total losses,” Lenord sighed, the reality of the matter sinking in. Any weakening of his arms could spell disaster..
But the Duke’s eyes told a different story. “Not quite. We will have less of the high-end bronze armor, but our army will be stronger.”
Lenord blinked. “How so?”
“Because with higher quality at a lower cost, we can arm more of our troops. Even the levies will be protected better than the Turabe hordes. A single one of our men will be worth two of theirs.”
Lenord let out a short, humorless chuckle, shaking his head. “So once again, the boy has saved us.”
“Quite possibly.”
Lenord stared at his hands, his expression darkening. “A man who has saved the whole country, and we are forced to offer him only Erica. Perhaps…”
“No, my king,” Norris interrupted, his voice dropping to a hard, warning tone. He leaned in, his face inches from Lenord’s. “We cannot back out of this and offer someone else. We understand the importance of the young man but the other nobles wouldn’t care if he were the Endless One himself. There would be a riot in court.”
“If he dies, though?”
“She is not cursed. She has a sharp mind and is loyal to the kingdom. She is exactly who we need in North Cove.”
Lenord looked away, staring at the flicker of the hearth. He knew his uncle was right, but the thought of Bicman’s reaction left a sour taste in his mouth. Did the boy already know what type of bride they had saddled him with?
Time to switch tracks.
“We need the process for creating this armor,” Lenord said, his voice regaining its kingly edge. “Not just for the cost, but for security. If anything happens to North Cove, we cannot lose the secret.”
Norris nodded slowly. “I agree. But we must approach the count with caution. If he resists, we take it. But for now? Let’s send a contingent of soldiers to North Cove under the guise of protecting the workers.”
Lenord stood. “Yes. That will do.”