The head of the royal clerks looked like a man who hadn't been born so much as had been assembled from parts of lesser clerks.
Not so much in the sense of visible joins or strange stiching. This wasn't Frankstein's accountant. He was, by all ordinary measures, a well-dressed man of middle years, with neatly arranged dark hair, a narrow face, and the posture of someone who believed the back was a like a document and should therefore remain straight. His clothing was fine without being flamboyant, noble without being loud, and arranged in layers that suggested rank, office, and a long history of refusing to wrinkle.
But still. Alric could not shake the impression.
It was in the precision. The stillness. The way the man’s hands rested on the table as if they had been placed there after review. The way his eyes moved across a room without appearing to search it, taking in entrances, documents, people, and an audit in the near future.
He was what happened when lesser clerks were combined, refined, and polished until one final bureaucratic creature remained.
Alric glanced briefly at Vale. Not just a clerk. This clerk represented Vale’s final form. If Vale could find a office to hole up in for twenty years and avoid sunlight, this is what he would become.
The thought was unpleasant enough that Alric looked away before his face could betray him.
The royal clerk sat opposite him at the long table in the meeting room, which had been rearranged for the occasion with care and foresight only Seren could provide. Two guards stood behind the clerk, two lesser clerks stood behind and to either side, each carrying writing boards and satchels filled with papers. Alric wasn’t sure if they were there as spare parts for the greater clerk or merely to copy documents.
Alric sat with Seren to his left side and Vale to the other. Margaret had taken the seat beyond Vale, representing the atelier, though she had arrived with the expression of someone who was still not entirely sure when a mage’s workshop had become the sort of thing that required royal oversight and two guards.
The answer was when Alric had touched it. The royal clerk inclined his head.
Up until now they had made polite introductions, what set off alarms for Alric was that he was respectful, too respectful.
Alric had learned to be suspicious of many things since arriving in this world. Helpful merchants. Smiling tavernkeepers. But respectful nobles were quickly climbing the list. Open contempt was at least honest. Politeness required interpretation, and interpretation was where people usually hid knives.
“Mister Alric, shall we proceed with the business of the day.” he said in a voice that didn’t just lack tone, it implied there had been no tone for six generations.
“My lord,” Alric said, because Vale had told him to say that and had said it with enough force to suggest improvisation would be punished.
The clerk’s expression did not change. “Lord Merenholt will suffice, though today I am here in my capacity as senior royal clerk.”
That did not help. In Alric’s experience, men who could choose between noble rank and paperwork then selected paperwork were not men to be underestimated.
Merenholt opened the first leather case in front of him. One of the lesser clerks immediately stepped forward and placed three bundles on the table. Each was tied with ribbon. Each bore a seal. Each looked as though it had been prepared by a person with a strong passion for margins.
Alric stared at them. There were already too many.
“This meeting,” Merenholt said as he selected documents, “concerns the crown’s formal position regarding your brewery, associated production houses, developing atelier, rental arrangements, guild classifications, and commercial standing.”
Alric disliked several of those words. He particularly disliked associated.
Seren remained very still beside him. Vale’s attention had settled on the documents with the focused calm of a man preparing to survive by reading faster than danger could move. Margaret’s brows drew together slightly at the mention of the atelier, though she said nothing.
Merenholt untied the first bundle.
“The crown has determined that your current exemptions require adjustment.” Merenholt explained, he handled the documents carefully, almost tenderly.
“Adjustment,” he repeated, he felt a growing sense of unease watching how Merenholt handled the documents.
“Yes,” Merenholt said, slowly smoothing out the first document on the table. “The first matter is taxation. Products considered luxury goods will be subject to a ten percent crown tax.”
Vale did not react, which probably meant he had expected something like this.
Alric looked at the document and tried to avoid looking at Merenholt’s hands. “Luxury goods?”
“Wine,” Lord Merenholt said explained now reaching for a second document, breaking the seal carefully. “Spirits. Refined or specialised alcohols. Prestige products sold primarily to noble households, private estates, or high-value buyers. Certain other goods may be evaluated under the same category depending on their presentation and price.”
“Beer?” Alric asked leaning back slightly. “I was meant to be exempt from all taxes for two years.”
“Beer will not be taxed, nor cider or mead.” Merenholt said simply, tearing his gaze away from the opened documents to Alric. “As for the exemption, we agree.”
The immediate agreement was annoying. That left the arguments Alric had prepared standing awkwardly in his head with nowhere to go.
Merenholt selected another and repeating the tender process of opening and smoothing out on the table. “Your previous exemption is not being ignored. It is being replaced by a more formal arrangement.”
Alric glanced at Vale. Vale’s face had become professional, which meant he either understood what was happening or had decided not to panic in public.
Merenholt continued, pushing the documents forward with an expression that managed to look regretful. “You will no longer pay rent through guild structures on crown-recognised operational premises. You will no longer pay merchant guild fees. Nor will you be subject to ordinary merchant guild permissions, production assessments, or customary charges relating to the brewery, atelier, supporting storage or future businesses.”
Alric stared at him for a long moment.
“The crown,” Lord Merenholt said slowly, leaning forward and tilting his head as he spoke, “is classifying your primary operations as infrastructure under royal interest.”
“Infrastructure,” Alric said, one of his brows climbing.
He was not entirely sure how to feel about that.
Infrastructure did not sound like a compliment. Infrastructure sounded like something people cursed when it failed, ignored when it worked, and taxed once someone realised it was necessary. Roads were infrastructure. Bridges were infrastructure. Drains were infrastructure. Alric had not come into this meeting expecting to be placed in the same category as drainage.
Seren’s mouth twitched once. Vale did not look amused. If anything, he looked sharply attentive.
Margaret sat up slightly.
“The merchants’ guild,” Merenholt said, closing his eyes for a moment, “have no authority to interfere with these operations.”
Vale’s fingers shifted once against the table.
“May I ask,” Vale said carefully, leaning forward over the table, “regarding the ten percent rate, for how long is this fixed?”
Lord Merenholt turned his gaze to him and seemed to size him up for a moment. “It is for five years, and we are not negotiating on that, it’s already far more generous than any previous precedent. It is also here that it will not be adjusted in that term.”
Vale let out a very slow breath before nodding once, though the movement was small.
Alric did not enjoy that.
When Vale agreed with clerks, the world had usually arranged itself into something Alric did not understand yet.
Alric glanced up at the ceiling, Vale had briefed him on this beforehand, The merchants guild tax would have been between thirty to forty percent. He’d also been told they were eagerly waiting for the exemption to run out.
Alric looked back at the clerk.
“So,” Alric said slowly, he chewed his bottom lip for a moment before he spoke, “I’m paying ten percent to avoid being eaten alive by the guild?”
Lord Merenholt inclined his head, as though acknowledging a minor preference in phrasing. He then opened the next document.
“The second matter concerns your merchant registration. You are to be deregistered as a merchant.” Merenholt said sliding the document across.
“No,” Alric said immediately, his brows knitted together.
Alric realised that had come out perhaps too quickly, but did not take it back.
“That is a problem,” he said, more carefully, sitting back slightly and raising a finger in front of himself. “It is the only reason I can deal with merchant houses properly. It lets me buy, sell, sign contracts, negotiate supply. Without it, I’m just some man with barrels and problems.”
“We anticipated that,” Lord Merenholt said, he glanced to one of the lesser clerks in reserve and gave a small nod. They stepped forward and placed a small case on the table.
It was dark wood, polished to a shine. Lord Merenholt opened it facing him before turning it to face Alric.
Inside lay a token similar in a way to his magery token.
It was larger than a coin, smaller than a badge, and far too ornate for anything Alric wanted to own. Metal formed the outer ring, worked in fine relief around the royal crest. Enamel filled the spaces between lines of silver and gold. A small crown mark sat near the top, small, but unmistakable. The whole thing looked expensive, official, and like losing it would involve prison.
“This identifies you as acting with the authority of the crown in recognised commercial matters.” Merenholt said, withdrawing his hands with that same sense of reverence he had given the documents earlier.
Alric did not touch it. Vale leaned slightly closer. Alric could see that Vale’s lips were pressed together.
Merenholt continued, still looking down at the token. “The broad category is often described in common speech as royal merchant, though the correct term royal factor.” As he finished, his gaze lifted to Alric.
Vale whistled. Alric looked at him sharply, he’d never seen Vale whistle at anything but his eyes were sparking looking down at the token.
Alric looked down at the token. It had not moved but that did not make it feel less alive somehow.
“Royal factor, what does that mean?” Alric asked, tearing his gaze away from it. “Practically.”
Lord Merenholt’s head shifted back a fraction, as though the practical benefits were so obvious that naming them reduced everyone involved.
“Apart from the prestige?” Merenholt began, he shifted back more comfortably in his chair.
“Please assume I am not moved by prestige.” Alric said with a flat expression.
Seren made a small sound that might have been approval.
Merenholt accepted this without visible judgement, he folded his arms and paused before explaining. “You may trade directly with noble households, estates, crown suppliers, and recognised institutions without requiring merchant guild intermediation. You may negotiate with houses normally closed to common traders. When acting under crown authority, your purchase orders, supply agreements, and commercial instructions carry the weight of royal interest.”
“That sounds vague,” Alric said giving Merenholt a sideways glance.
Merenholt considered that, then nodded saying, “It is intentionally flexible.”
Vale had gone very quiet.
Margaret was staring at the token with a hungry expression, which meant she was not thinking of money first, but access. Materials, permissions, workshops. Doors that opened because no one wanted to be seen closing them on the crown.
Lord Merenholt continued studying Alric’s expression carefully. “You will not have unlimited authority. You cannot command a noble house in private matters. You cannot seize property or ignore lawful contracts. But you may, within reason, insist that parties treat with you seriously.”
Alric slowly turned the meaning over in his head, he turned to face Merenholt directly. “So if a noble decides I’m just a brewer and tries to push me around…”
“They are choosing to push around a man carrying crown authority in that specific matter,” Lord Merenholt interrupted, he unfolded one hand and gestured in Alric’s general direction.
Seren’s eyes narrowed faintly, Alric did not like how useful that was.
Lord Merenholt watched Alric carefully when he added, “You will also have access to court.”
Alric recoiled, his shoulders shaking as she leaned back.
The silence after it was immediate, and then it failed.
Seren laughed first, a quick sound she tried and failed to smother. Vale followed, quietly, looking away. Margaret put a hand over her mouth. Lord Merenholt’s expression warmed into something like real amusement.
Alric looked around the table. “What?”
Lord Merenholt folded his hands again but carried a smile. “It is generally considered a benefit.”
“To whom?” Alric asked suspiciously.
“To most merchants.” Merenholt said with a grin.
“Most merchants have never been in the palace.” Alric said keep his expression flat again.
“That is why they want access.” Merenholt said nodding.
“I have been to the palace. That is why I don’t.” Alric said, trying to not sneer.
This time Margaret did laugh, though she recovered quickly.
Lord Merenholt allowed the moment to pass with the patience of a man who understood that even important paperwork sometimes needed to step around human weakness.
Alric looked at the token again. It was beginning to explain the clerk’s politeness.
Lord Merenholt was a noble. Minor, perhaps, but noble. In any ordinary room, that would matter. It probably mattered now. The clerk was not here as a man of rank speaking down to a brewer.
He was here as the living mouth of royal paperwork, speaking to something the crown had decided to make dangerous in writing.
Alric had stopped being merely inconvenient. He was, apparently, a crown asset. Or a crown problem. Possibly both, which sounded like the sort of category that produced reports.
“There are restrictions,” Lord Merenholt said selecting another page carefully. “The authority of a royal factor must not be abused. Historical misuse has ended poorly.”
Alric looked up and tried not to watch him. “Poorly? How poorly?”
Lord Merenholt was silent for a moment and even paused from handling documentation. “Beheadings have occurred.”
Alric stared at him. Lord Merenholt looked up at him calmly.
“Right,” Alric said slowly, he crossed his arms. “That is useful to know early. What counts as abuse?”
Lord Merenholt seemed to take the question seriously, the clerk tapped one finger lightly against the edge of the document, his gaze lifting toward the ceiling as though consulting precedent rather than memory.
“Forcing a sale from an unwilling household under colour of royal authority,” he said still tapping a finger. “Demanding extreme discounts by implying crown displeasure. Threatening noble households without cause. Inventing urgency where none exists. Claiming the king desires a purchase or action when no such instruction has been given. Using the token to resolve private grievances. Bypassing lawful agreements for convenience.” He finished with his gaze dropping back to Alric.
Alric listened with growing discomfort. The list was too specific. That meant people had done those things. Probably more than once.
“And this has led to beheadings?” he asked trying to keep his expression neutral but all too aware of being studied.
“In severe cases.” Merenholt said not taking his eyes off him.
“What about moderate cases?” Alric asked turning his head to the side again.
“Fines, loss of office, imprisonment, confiscation, exile, or ruin.” Merenholt said after a pause, his scrutiny softening slightly.
Lord Merenholt inclined his head.
“There will also be ledger requirements,” he said glancing at Vale again, he seemed to convey disapproval without tone somehow. “Copies of significant purchases, contracts, supply agreements, rental payments, and crown-relevant sales must be maintained and submitted to the royal clerks in scheduled bundles. Details of your reporting structures will be sent.”
Vale nodded, standing a little straighter.
Lord Merenholt turned back to Alric, “There are benefits to this. If a supplier overcharges you while you act under crown authority, cheats the weights, sells false goods, hides defects, adds false fees, or otherwise manipulates the transaction, the matter is not considered merely a private fraud against you, but against the crown.”
Vale whispered, almost to himself, “That is the benefit of being a royal merchant.”
“Royal factor,” Merenholt corrected automatically, not even looking at Vale as he said it.
Vale nodded once. Alric looked at the token again. It still looked like a snake. Only now it was a snake that might bite other people too.
Lord Merenholt moved to the next document.
“On what was mentioned earlier, rental arrangements will also be altered. Crown-recognised operating properties will be rented through the crown directly where applicable. Any qualifying payments already made will be reimbursed. The Merchant's guild handles rentals in the warehouse district and merchant's row on behalf of the crown after all." Merenholt slid the document forward carefully to Alric, avoiding making it a pile.
Alric decided not to argue with money returning to him until he understood whether it was holding a knife.
“Can I buy?” he asked quickly.
Merenholt shook his head. “No. Not even a duke may simply buy land in the capital, capital property is controlled through grant, inheritance, lease, charter, assignment, or crown-held rights.”
So, I can rent, as long as I’m useful.
The documents sat on the table between them, orderly and waiting. The token remained where it had been placed. The guards had not moved. The lesser clerks had not shifted. Lord Merenholt seemed perfectly prepared to continue until Alric either signed something or became a document himself.
Alric drew in a breath. “I need a moment with my people.” He explained, keeping his expression neutral.
“Of course,” Merenholt said matching the neutral expression.
Then he did not move. Neither did the guards behind him or the two lesser clerks.
They all remained exactly where they were, formal and composed, as if the request had been accepted and completed.
Alric waited half a breath too long. Then a full breath. The royal clerk did not or so much as twitch.
Then Vale stood. Alric looked at him.
Vale gathered his folder, Margaret stood after him. Seren rose a heartbeat later and gave Alric the faintest look. Only then did Alric understand.
He had asked for privacy. Vale’s final form was now sitting in Alric’s own building and outranked him. Because Lord Merenholt was the more important person in the room, Alric and his people were the ones expected to leave.
His own home, depending on how charitable one wished to be toward a structure that was losing the argument with barrels, staff, ledgers, and now crown paperwork.
For a brief, dangerous moment, Alric considered objecting.
Then he looked at Lord Merenholt, who sat politely with the patience of a man backed by a king, two guards, two clerks, several sealed documents, and the entire weight of procedure.
Alric stood. He was pretty sure Merenholt noticed but he gave no indication.
Alric led his people out into the courtyard with the uncomfortable realisation that crown oversight had begun by politely evicting him from his own room.
The courtyard air felt better.
Alric stopped near the side wall, far enough from the doorway that Lord Merenholt could not hear unless royal clerks developed special senses from long exposure to ink.
Alric turned to Vale, “Honest version?” he asked while crossing his arms again.
Vale did not hesitate. “It is a very, very good deal.”
Alric waited.
Vale adjusted the folder under his arm. “The tax rate is low. Five years locked is excellent. Beer being excluded is better. The guilds cannot touch you directly. They cannot bury you in fees or force your ledgers open and then invent half a dozen ways to punish you for being successful.” Vale said making a carry-on gesture with his free hand.
“Royal factor?” Alric said as if chewing the idea, looking down at the ground for a moment.
Vale’s expression shifted in a way that suggested the answer had several layers. “Enormous. Dangerous, but enormous.”
“And the ledgers?” Alric said his gaze going back, watching Vale carefully.
“Annoying. Manageable.” Vale said waving his hand dismissively.
Seren crossed her arms, looking back toward the meeting room. “It also puts you very clearly under the king’s eye.”
“He already was.” Vale countered glancing across at her.
“Yes,” she said returning the gaze. “Now there will be forms.”
Alric winced slightly.
Margaret had been quiet, her gaze unfocused in the way it became when she was fitting implications together. “The atelier will be affected.”
Alric looked at her.
“It will help,” she said, he posture was relaxed, but she raised her hands and began counting on her fingers. “Materials, protections, certain permissions. If someone refuses sale because we are not noble-backed, the token changes that. If someone claims we are operating improperly, the crown will already have records. That matters.” She finished looking up at Alric.
“But?” Alric asked, he tilted his head at her, looking for where the knife lay.
Margaret looked uncomfortable, her hands went to her hips, she considered the question before saying. “I have heard of royal merchants. Royal factors. Crown suppliers. Not often closely, but enough. They are usually noble, or tied to noble houses, or backed by old families. I have never heard of a commoner receiving this much direct favour from the king.”
Alric did not like how carefully she said it.
“It is also the sort of thing people notice,” Seren added her glance shifting between the other three.
Vale nodded and shrugged. “And resent.”
Alric looked from one to the other, then turned to Seren. She stood silently looking at the passage.
“Your take Seren?” Alric asked, trying to stand at ease.
Seren looked at him, silent for a while.
“No clever quip?” Alric prompted, both eyebrows now raised.
She let out a sigh. A proper one.
“Mister Alric,” she said, taking a deep breath, “you are essentially a lord in all but name, and you have no idea how to act like one.”
Seren continued, at each point she tilted her head at each point she made, “You have workers. Guards. Property. Production. Noble attention. Royal protection. An atelier. A brewery the temple blessed because it did not know what else to do. You move food, drink, coin, labour, and now apparently crown authority.”
Alric shrugged waiting for the point to land.
“You keep trying to behave as if you can still be treated as a brewer who happens to have become busy,” she said straightening up at the last. “You probably need etiquette lessons.”
Vale did not interrupt. Margaret looked away.
Alric had known parts of it already. Stromni had said noble output. The king had summoned him. The queen had looked at him like she was a new kind of useful insect. He was not just a brewer anymore.
He hated that. But hating it had not made it false.
“I agree,” he said after a long silence, he noted the others reactions but held eye contact with Seren.
Seren’s expression shifted slightly, as though she had not expected him to concede that quickly.
Alric looked back toward the meeting room before turning back to Seren. “I have no idea how to act like one but no etiquette lessons. I would just be a fraud. So I’m done trying.”
Vale frowned slightly. “Trying?”
“To look right. To guess what they expect. To pretend I understand noble rules I only learn after I’ve broken them.” Alric let out a slow breath. “I’m not a noble. I’m not a proper merchant. I’m not a court man. I don’t know the correct way to sit when a royal clerk steals my room by not moving. I can have the best manners in the land, I will always be lessor in their eyes, so why bother.”
Alric continued, “I’ll be careful. We’ll keep the ledgers. I won’t wave the royal snake around and demand discounts.”
“Please do not call it that in front of him,” Vale said raising a hand flat in a stop gesture.
“But I am done trying to become acceptable by pretending to be something I am not. Everyone already knows I’m strange. Everyone already knows I don’t fit properly. This…” He gestured vaguely toward the room. “This gives me one useful thing.” Alric said, holding up one hand with one finger pointed straight up.
Seren watched him carefully.
“It gives me the right to stop caring quite so much about appearances.” Alric said shifting his finger forward slightly.
“That is not exactly what it gives you,” Vale said with a frown.
“It is what I am taking from it.” Alric said glancing across at him, he folded his arms again.
Margaret’s mouth twitched.
Seren studied him for a moment, then sighed again, smaller this time. “I suppose it does, in a way.”
Vale adjusted the folder again. “We should accept.”
Alric nodded. “You said that already. Lets go sign then.”
He gestured for his staff to lead the way, in the time, he organised his thoughts. Brewer. Merchant. Mage. Problem. Slight heretic, briefly and informally. Infrastructure, apparently. Now royal factor.