10.23 LMGY

(The month of Innktober is upon us once more! There will be an art contest with prizes! Read this post for details!)

 

 

 

Something was wrong. If you couldn’t feel that…well, maybe it wasn’t obvious. But something was wrong.

It kept the purple-scaled Drake up late at night, pacing, until he got growled at and reluctantly slunk into bed. Then he’d wake up, despite being tired, and stand on his balcony and listen to the sounds of his beloved, changing city, feeling it in his bones. Not the insight of a [Councilmember]—not quite. It was his basest instincts, the ancient reptile-brain that Drakes didn’t like to admit they had.

It was his other class that whispered to him, the [Shopkeeper]’s paranoia. And Councilmember Lism listened to it when it told him something in Liscor was wrong.

Lism. Profile of himself: purple-scaled Drake in his early forties. Very early! Just forty-three! No saggy scales, not much grey at all, just a few patches. Craggy purple, nothing royal, but he fancied he looked decent with the right clothing on. Not fit or handsome as he had been in his youth—you should see Olesm, now there was a Swifttail in his prime; Lism loved his nephew—but Lism still had it.

By ‘it’, he meant his self-confidence, a certain pluckiness that had seen him build up his shop from scratch and become a Councilmember of Liscor of all things. He could cook—fish were his specialty—and in the rainy season, he’d be frying up a storm, just you wait. He’d been a [Handyman], had fixed up his apartment more times than he could count, and he’d aspired to be a [Trader] before he realized he hated the road and settled down to [Shopkeeper] instead.

Nevermind the hard times; he’d raised Olesm properly, and look at the boy now. Lism. Confident? Overconfident? Bah, he deserved his swagger. He had an oversized ballista between his legs and an even larger ego for his nephew and his city. Those were Lism-facts.

…Lism hadn’t been allowed to put one of those details in his personal biography, despite him feeling like it was a salient, nay, complimentary fact about him. Why was he writing a biography? Not purely vanity. Krshia and the other Councilmembers were doing it too. One of the [Scribes] kept bugging him about it for Liscor’s election this year, which they were not having, except maybe they were.

It was complicated. He should have been in office at least another year. Liscor’s Council worked like that. Yet, somehow, some way, everyone was saying there’d be an election this year.

Why? Well, you had a lot of citizens saying it ‘made sense’. Or stating someone in a pub had said that. Dig down a bit deeper and you’d realize every Senior Carpenter in the Carpenter’s Guild had been repeating the same line to their assistants, apprentices, and customers. Why?

Well, the Guildmaster of the Carpenter’s Guild, Noxsham, was a former Councilmember and didn’t appreciate how the current Council was running things. But they couldn’t force an election. That was against the law. It was illegal.

Right? Right, said Lism’s [Councilmember] brain.

Wrong, said the [Shopkeeper]. Anything you can force through is allowed. Maybe it’s illegal, but who’s going to arrest Noxsham? Zevara? Venim? Was it a crime if he just states his opinion and maybe bribes people to say the right thing or hires people to agitate for it? Not one you can arrest him for.

Now, if he told the Senior Carpenters to fall in line and say what he wants, maybe. But Lism had checked, and coercing your Guildmembers to do something you wanted wasn’t strictly a crime. Zevara or Venim might have a case, but then it looked like the Watch was going after people on the current Council’s say-so. Bad look, so Lism hadn’t pushed for it.

“Someone should make a law about that kind of thing.”

Lism muttered to himself. He was smoking on the balcony, a big puffer courtesy of Palt’s Emporium glowing cherry-red as it rained, and the water drowned out his voice and the pre-dawn activities of the city. He couldn’t see anything down Cosmel Street; someone hurrying through the rain at best, maybe some wagon movement?

Just rain. Pouring down, flooding the sewers, but not the street, thank the Ancestors. If you had a clogged drain, any Liscorian would instantly call for someone to unclog it or do it themself. Liscor was built with exceptional sewers, but it could still flood. Why, Lism remembered one bad clog that had led to every building in five blocks being flooded halfway up to the second story…

His city. Dead gods, he loved it. Lism flicked some cigar ash over the balcony and watched it vanish in a whirlpool in one of the drains. He swore he saw something scurrying out of it and grimaced.

“Wetrats. I thought we were doing well on the damn sewers.”

It was probably because they’d expanded. Wetrats swam like fish. They didn’t get big, they didn’t mutate; they were just rats that multiplied by the hundreds. Adventurers hated killing them in the sewers; they’d swim off, and the sewers would be precarious and flooding with water. One wrong step and you’d be washed away.

As a boy, Lism had tried being an adventurer. Every boy had. He saw the rat vanish and sighed. Liscor in the rainy season could have problems if the Wetrats came out of the sewers. You couldn’t travel, it rained constantly, a single leak in your apartments would flood your rooms unless you were on it like a shot—he loved it. You could walk down off the walls and just fish for a living. The world became a giant lake; he’d grown up with this, and it was as natural to him as the snow come winter.

Krshia, now…Lism paused, and a snore like someone running a rasp down a log of wood cut the air. Krshia had said the rains had freaked her out the first year she and all the Silverfangs had come to the city. She’d lain awake, apparently, waiting to have to swim for her life when the walls imploded.

Krshia. Furry Gnoll, tall as most were, over any normal Drake woman’s height, permanently fixed in Lism’s mind as a glowering, snide Gnoll behind her own stall. Currently…cohabitating Lism’s apartment as well as filling another seat on the Council.

Why? How? More like—did anyone know? The Council definitely did—at least, the Gnolls. Damn noses. Since it wasn’t anyone else’s business, Lism and Krshia told no one, and only other Gnolls like that Mrsha child had figured it out.

Why? Ask Lism the [Shopkeeper] two years ago and he’d have said he’d rather lay with a watersnake than Krshia. Ask Lism the [Councilmember] today? He’d say…

“She’s a good [Shopkeeper]. A better [Councilmember]. I might have rather lain with a watersnake than her—but I’d embrace a Hollowstone Deceiver before I let those asses from the old Council ruin Liscor.”

That was where it had all started, Lism reckoned. Sitting down in the Council room, ready to fight Krshia tooth and nail, before having a bunch of people tell him that rent wasn’t too high, that Liscor was doing just fine as it was, and that nothing should change. Realizing the real enemy was someone he’d partner up with anyone, even Krshia, to defeat.

But the enemy was coming. Lism was no [Soldier]. He’d taken the mandatory class, of course, Level 1, but he wasn’t a [Soldier]. Not really. He kept his voice low as he muttered to himself, thinking out loud. Krshia would hear him speaking to himself but for the rain.

“They’re going to get another election. Why? Because it’s a popular idea. Are we unpopular? No…but is the Council popular? Yes. Everyone realizes the Council is doing things, so they bug all of us constantly to have their problems pushed forwards. All these Humans coming in compound the issue. ‘Liscor’s changing, let’s let the Humans vote’, hah! It’s the old Council. They want their people in and us out.”

It was down to the rent. Liscor’s Council had put a cap on how much anyone could charge for rent and expanded the city by a third. That meant prices were low, rock bottom, and you had a lot of [Landlords] angry. You had angry people who didn’t like Humans, and fair enough, Lism didn’t like them either. Hadn’t he proven that? But the city needed to grow. Don’t like them all you want, but if there’s a job opening, first come, first serve.

There were eggheaded idiots who still didn’t like the Gnolls who’d been here a decade and had children. They were Liscorians. Give the Humans ten years and they’d be Liscorians too, watching the Floodplains fill up like it was normal.

But Lism thought it was mostly the groups that owned land who didn’t want a fix on rent caps. The ones who saw Liscor changing too much, too fast, who looked at Antinium marching in their cute patrols on the street and asked the Council to ban them, as if the Antinium hadn’t been here for ten years. An election was coming in Lism’s opinion, legal or not. What he didn’t like were the other factors.

“How much does it take to bribe someone to talk up an election? Ten copper? Too low. A gold coin’s too high; they’ll think it matters. Five, six silver, maybe? How many people are saying it? Who’s paying for hundreds of people to do that?”

It was a lot of money, even for a Councilmember. Not much for a Walled City.

Manus? Pallass? Salazsar? Lism had rubbed his earholes when one of the [Tacticians] who’d replaced Olesm had delivered that as a hypothesis. But you had Wall Lords and Ladies who’d bought land in Liscor. Manus, for instance, was not happy about Liscor’s involvement in the Hectval war. Liscor had told them to shove their tails back up where they came from; Manus hadn’t done them any good turns of late, and respect for a Walled City only went so far.

But then Manus maybe, perhaps, paid for a snap election? Concerning.

“There should be laws about that too.”

Lism thought as he spoke. The election was the thing. And the other thing was gold. Liscor had too much of it. Not enough in the right places.

Price of Yellats was a staple. Yellats were one of the most common damn items in the world. Any farm could grow them. They grew in horrible soil conditions with minimal water. Bugs didn’t gnaw on them as often. ‘Only an idiot can’t grow a Yellat’; that’s what [Farmers] said.

The price of Yellats was usually low. Five coppers got you a bag of Yellats, several pounds’ worth, enough for a week of straight meals. Usually even [Widows] and families down on their luck could eat Yellats on that. Not happily; you had to prepare Yellats right to get them to taste good, though a bit of salt and butter might work in a pinch. But it was affordable.

These days? The price of Yellats was eight coppers. Eight coppers.

How? It wasn’t just the hard winter or the New Lands. Liscor was insulated from the effects of the famines that Lism had heard about elsewhere because of the door. In a hard winter, before the door, when Liscor was isolated from other cities, prices rose by a copper or two at most. The last time prices had hit eight coppers, you know what Liscor had been facing? Starvation after Az’kerash had sieged the city and wiped out the local villages with plagues and undead.

“[Check Market Price]. It’s nine today. What is going on?”

The [Shopkeeper] drummed his claws on the balcony. He knew what was going on, or he had a guess. Gold. Gold flooding Liscor’s markets in ways he hadn’t dreamed could be bad, but here they were.

Last year, Liscor had been blessed by huge donations from interested parties, from the Antinium, from Pallass, and gotten even more gold from people buying into the 3rd District. Lism had heard he had a certain [Innkeeper] to thank at least in part; Wall Lord Ilvriss, among others, had started the trend of buying land in Liscor for increasingly insane prices.

That had been good, right? Money for the Adventurer’s Guild to expand, for [Builders], for new roads, for Hexel and his expensive prices, though he was good at his job. Money came in…and then more money came in…and then came the visitors.

Lism pictured the issue like one of those ‘homework’ assignments Olesm used to have. Not in the schools like they were doing now, but the mailed assignments from Manus. The lad had gotten splendid marks before going to [Strategist] school.

 

Example 1. A [Lady] comes from Invrisil. She dines at a local restaurant, gawks at the Antinium, has a parfait from Barehoof Kitchens, buys a huge cake for home. She enjoys herself and the things in Liscor so much that she leaves a tip in one of the restaurants because she’s never had Drake cooking before.

Question: How much is the tip?

Answer: Five gold coins. To the server, the cook, the entire staff probably, and the owner of the restaurant probably takes a cut.

 

But that wasn’t the real question, was it? The real question was…why was this a bad thing?

 

Question: How much does the average worker in Liscor make per week?

Answer: One gold coin.

 

One gold coin. A very neat answer. In other cities, it was different; Lism had heard it was nearly five gold, sixteen silver in Manus, for instance, and that wasn’t even the richest Walled City. Liscor had probably been below a lot of southern Drake cities just because they had been more connected and had more trade and whatnot.

However, in Liscor, prices were low. Five copper coins had gotten you a lot of Yellats. In other cities, it wasn’t nearly as cheap just because their economies were different, which was a strange idea unless you’d been a [Trader] and realized that relative value of goods was the entire point.

Silver was cheap in House Byres, but take it a thousand miles somewhere else, and it was good stuff. Then it was just whether the trip was worth the profits and figuring out your best route, keeping your goods safe, paying for horse feed, security…bah.

Lism got it. Liscor worked because one gold coin was worth a lot. So what happened when a [Server] or restaurant pulled in five gold coins on a tip from a single [Lady]? They decided that [Lady] or her type was their favorite customer.

Not a problem. Here was problem two, though:

 

Example 2. A construction company has come to Liscor to work for Hexel the [Architect]. The Dullahan in charge is paying his workers at a weekly rate of seven gold pieces a week, which is apparently the Pallassian standard for experienced [Builders]. Not even [Masons], mind you. He has high standards, but it means every Drake, Gnoll, and Human with a level in [Laborer] or any class wants his job.

Question: Why is this a problem?

Answer: It’s not if you get the job. It’s not if you’re the [Shopkeeper] who finds someone with seven gold coins burning a hole in their pocket. It’s not if you’re the thousands of people coming to Liscor for jobs. It is if other construction companies want to hire competitively. It is if [Shopkeepers] selling produce realize they can raise prices a copper and still sell out all their produce. It is if you’re a Liscorian living in a city with gold pouring in but you’re not seeing anything come out of the faucet.

 

That was what Lism saw, and it had warred in his head these last few months. This time, the reverse argument. The [Shopkeeper] thought it was a good thing. The [Councilmember] realized people were having trouble feeding themselves. And both Lisms had never been keen on watching anyone lose their home or starve.

“I thought I fixed it with the rent. Now it’s food. Garry’s Antinium Edibles has nearly two hundred regular clients this week. He used to have less than twenty. Some of them probably stay for his food, but many are trying to save on bread. Gold comes in here, but it doesn’t fill people’s pockets. Why?”

Probably because the gold was moving among certain markets. It might, in theory…run downwards from the top like a waterfall and make everyone richer. In time. But Lism doubted that theory for two reasons.

Reason the first: it was nobility and visitors from Pallass, Invrisil, and elsewhere who came to Liscor and spent big. They were already rich, and their incomes had no real ties to Liscor; they might own a property here, but that would only add to their pools of wealth. It put Liscorians in a permanent state of catering towards richer and, therefore, more influential visitors, and that annoyed Lism.

He’d seen Pallassians come through, buy up every sweet in existence, and head back to their Walled City and leave [Bakeries] empty for the day. The Baker’s Guild that had stolen Erin’s cookie and cake designs was, ironically, having a damn war to keep the food recipes safe from Invrisil and Pallass. But it meant that Pallassians still had five times or more the buying power of a Liscorian—hence price increases.

Reason the second: Lyonette. She had offered to buy up every lot left in 3rd District. Just like that. There were a number of Walled Nobility offering the same, and Humans. Lism had been fine with the concept initially. You wanted to pay through the nose to buy property? Go ahead! More money to improve Liscor, right?

Only now, he was facing a world in which the richest person in the world might own Liscor despite not living in it. And then, how were people supposed to have houses? All those Humans coming in to buy property in Liscor on Lism’s word had found prices beyond their ability to pay.

Homes were being made in 3rd District by Humans, Antinium, Drakes, and Gnolls, but not going to the people that built them. They were going for hundreds or even thousands of gold coins, beyond any regular person’s ability to buy them.

“Something is wrong. It’s too much gold.”

Lism stared out the window as the sky brightened, signaling a dark dawn over rainy Liscor. He listened to his own words.

“Too much gold?”

Shopkeeper Lism slapped himself for this heresy coming out of his own mouth. Krshia made a snrk? sound and rolled over in their bed.

Councilmember Lism rubbed his cheek.

“It is. The gold’s the problem. It’s not just rent or food. Too much gold. Too much…”

Tell a Pallassian that Yellats were nine copper coins and they wouldn’t say ‘how much? How outrageous!’ They’d say ‘what a deal!’ and come running to buy all the Yellats they wanted, then head back to Pallass. They could afford the door fee; regular Liscorians couldn’t.

Do we solve that by asking Lyonette to make the door free for Liscorians? She’ll never accept that; it makes no sense, either. She’s a businesswoman too. There has to be a solution, though.

Liscor was being crowded out by the other cities in close proximity instead of it being a mutual relationship. They might win at football, but they were losing the war of economics…and all because the other cities were like multi-caravan [Merchants] having a trade war with a [Trader] who had a single cart and a donkey.

Lism thought, as he stood in the rain, that Liscor was at an inflection point. Again. The change didn’t bother him; it had scared him at first, but then he’d seen his city grow and look better and be important, and that had mattered more. But this time, he feared it could get worse. Not collapse; Liscor could never die so easily, but it could get worse for people. Unless he did something.

What?

He stood there for a while, smoking his cigar down to ash, brushing at a silver pendant with Liscor’s sigil stamped on it that Krshia had gotten him for his birthday. Wondering why he was so damn certain…and what he should do.

“Gold.”

It was always about the gold in the end.

 

——

 

Ramone Terland was not a brave man, and he wished Xitegen were here because the Terland family needed him. Not for defense or anything as prosaic as that; no one attacked Terlands save for the insane or monsters like the Kraken Eater tribe. Nor for Xitegen’s, uh, demeanor either. Or even his status.

True, Xitegen was a Lord of Hearts, an internal Terland status as one of the highest-ranking members of the family. He could command the oldest Golems, claiming which ones he intended to use from the Terlands’ stock, even Sentience-class Golems like his helpers, Primera and Seconda.

Primera and Seconda, what names. Another reason why, until now, Ramone had stayed away from Xitegen.

Oh, Lord Xitegen was a quite capable combat-based [Lord] with his [Covering Fire] Skill; the poor man had survived the 2nd Antinium Wars and seen his entire family perish.

The thing was…House Terland didn’t need him. That wasn’t an insult. But please, one of the Five Families of Izril didn’t need a Named Rank adventurer. He wasn’t essential as a bodyguard, a champion, or anything else. They had Golems.

There was a Golem Lighthouse on one of their coasts that directed ships into their ports. It could also fire on [Pirate] ships. True, some of the old lenses were inaccurate, and the Golem Heart had been cracked so it could only fire once per day—but not many [Pirates] wanted to take the risk, even so.

They had an invisible Golem, Sicladiun, which hunted down criminals in their land; it was an urban legend among the common folk. Save for a truly terrible event like another Goblin King, Xitegen was unneeded, and Ramone had, in fact, applauded his decision to go and uplift the city of Celum.

Good riddance! Goodbye! Don’t come back except for the yearly reunion! Xitegen was not a pleasant man to be around.

He was argumentative, pushy, would bite your nose off if you brought up issues he thought you were on the wrong side of, and worst of all…he was just too athletic, frankly.

The Terlands had a central mini-city in their capital, Velsgreth, where a lot of the family lived. It had Golem servants dating back thousands of years, beautiful rooms; the entire mansion had literally been transported from Terandria when they’d moved, and you would want for nothing there. Only a few members even bothered to commute to First Landing to play politics.

So there Ramone would be in the morning, having an elegant cup of tea after it had been poison-tested—he’d had a…poisoning incident in his youth and wore illusion spells because of the scars—and be about to ring for breakfast.

Then he’d turn his head and a half-naked, sweating Xitegen would stride past him, throw himself into one of the chairs, and remark on how good the morning’s run had been. The man loved to run. Like a common Runner! And he’d comment that Ramone should get out and smell the ‘fresh air’.

The air-purifying spells were as fresh as Ramone wanted, thank you. Xitegen would tromp off with his dirty shoes, and you’d see a poor cleaning Golem following him around all day. No, good riddance to Xitegen, Ramone had thought.

…Then he’d realized Xitegen occupied a vital role in House Terland. That House Terland needed a busybody, an opinionated fellow like him. Why? Because he was a lightning rod. Without him to be annoying, to argue with the matriarch or to talk her down out of her moods…

Ulva Terland got tetchy.

 

——

 

“Ramone! Great Aunt Ulva is on the warpath. It’s about Taulus again.”

“Who?”

“The…one of the cousins who went off to kill the Kraken Eaters.”

“Oh, the distant family. What of it, Alorelle?”

If Ramone sounded disparaging as he and Alorelle hid behind a balustrade and listened to Ulva Terland’s furious voice, well, the Terlands were a large family.

Some Lord of Stones getting killed was egregious and demanded vengeance, but he, Ramone, wasn’t going to get worked up over it. Indeed, Lady Alorelle barely gave the deceased fellow a second comment.

“It’s a disgrace, and that damn tribe of Goblins should be destroyed tomorrow, but even Lord Tyrion couldn’t eradicate them. But you know how Great Aunt Ulva gets over…them.”

The G-word. Goblins. Not to be said around Ulva Terland, Xitegen, or anyone else who’d been at the Sacrifice of Roses. Terrible thing, of course, that war. So many deaths. Ramone had been here when the entire war went down, but he’d voted all of his Golems to join the front.

It sounded like Aunt Ulva was tearing a hole into everyone in earshot. She might have been an old woman who rode on a magical dais and was afraid to go anywhere without her bodyguards, but she was as fierce as a lion. Ramone adjusted his collar.

“Does she want to send out a second force…?”

“Some of the Originals. What if they’re destroyed?”

“That’s heresy in itself, Alorelle. The Originals weren’t made to lose to even Named-ranks. They could send Sicladiun out, and I’ll wager he could destroy the entire Goblin tribe. Don’t they slip away every time an Original gets sent?”

The two nobles whispered together in the corridor. Ramone was tall and somewhat long-legged, though he tended to hunch over, and had been accused of looking ‘bat-like’. He liked to have a rather handsome face; the scars he’d gotten from his youth had warped his right cheek and stretched the skin.

Alorelle, on the other hand, didn’t go for illusions. She had bright-blue hair, which Ramone wished he could prove was the product of dyes, and a heart-shaped face that had once made her one of Izril’s most beloved [Ladies].

Then she’d gotten old, and unlike Lady Wuvren, she hadn’t kept her title as the most beautiful. Even so…she’d been, what, thirty when House Terland had arranged her marriage with Eldertuin the Fortress?

Ramone still didn’t quite get why the fellow was so important he’d been allowed elevation to Lord of Function. Named-rank or not, the Terlands were one of the Five Families! Alorelle had gone through with the marriage gracefully, though, even if she liked to lord her knowledge of monsters over everyone else.

“The Kraken Eaters have beaten Named-ranks, Ramone. They might even damage or destroy old Sicladiun. Great Aunt Ulva knows that. She wants someone to take charge and hunt down the Goblins themselves.”

“Ah. And Xitegen’s not here to spend two months turning rocks over, is he?”

Ramone’s heart sank. No wonder he’d seen so many of his peers fleeing the area. The Lords and Ladies of Function, and even the Lords of Heart, didn’t want to have to chase a damn Goblin tribe around, even if they got to play with some of the Terlands’ finest Golems.

“Better run. Or she’ll make you do it. If Eldertuin was here, he’d volunteer, of course…but he’s in the New Lands.”

“Making a name for you.”

Ramone muttered snidely, and Alorelle shot him a glower.

“I sent him off with all my best wishes and full of provisions. He’s an adventurer. You know how they are.”

Eldertuin the Fortress wasn’t nearly as interesting as Ramone had hoped. The man was reserved, quiet, even if he was as large as a house, and not very interesting. Then again, marry Alorelle and you weren’t much for speaking in the first place. Probably why he went on adventures all the time.

Regardless, the update from his cousin meant Ramone was fifty paces down the corridor and wishing he could run like Xitegen when Ulva Terland floated upwards on her Dais of Greater Health and called out.

“Ramone! Alorelle! One of you two had better have a reason why you won’t avenge one of our own! And if I hear one comment about Eldertuin adventuring, I shall have his wife do a tenth of the work he does! Lord Ramone, do you have anything to occupy your attention in the name of House Terland?”

Uh oh. Avenging Terland’s own meant Ulva was in a very nasty state of mind. She might well order either one of them to go out and hunt the Kraken Eaters down, and Ramone was no fighter.

Alorelle tried to run, and Ulva pointed a finger. A Golem with Truegold skin and wearing a maid’s outfit sprang forwards and dragged her back—Ramone knew better than to run and spun around.

“Great Aunt Ulva! I was just about my business for House Terland. But if you need me, I’m delighted to be of service!”

His desperate smile didn’t make Ulva’s scowl change. She floated forwards as Ramone glanced around.

“Oh? And what would that be, Lord Ramone?”

He was already sweating. A Terland could well live life without having any onerous duties; if you were a Lord of Function like Ramone, your allocation of funds from the family was very handsome, and you had Golems under your control. True, he often schemed to find ways to increase that amount of money or gain more power within the family, but he didn’t like work.

However, the Lord or Lady of Creation—the matriarch or patriarch of the family—could give any other Terland marching orders. So Ramone grasped for the only straw he had as he stuttered an excuse to avoid being sent on Goblin-killing duty.

“Er—er—I was just going to ensure all our finances were in order. I am one of the Treasurers after all.”

He was nominally in charge of overseeing the Terlands’ mercantile affairs. In practice, it meant letting the [Scribes] and [Merchants] and whatnot under Terland control do their job. Terlands operated several Merchant’s Guilds in the north, and they did a lot of trade. Golems could load and unload cargo, process items, and make a lot of goods themselves.

Ulva looked Ramone up and down, and her tone dripped sarcasm and incredulity for his excuse, but she seemed to realize Ramone wasn’t much of a war leader in any case.

“Hm. How admirable. Then I shall hear Alorelle’s excuse. Don’t let me keep you from your work, Ramone.”

He scurried away as Alorelle began to babble excuses about having to take care of the children, who were probably being raised by their Golem and Human nursemaids anyways. Ramone was just glad to be out of danger, but he realized, with a groan, it meant he’d have to at least show his face around and work today.

He slunk off to the part of the mansion where the actual hired help worked—at least, the senior [Merchants] and the very best…money people…that the Terlands employed. He’d just stand there and ask a few questions so Ulva didn’t bite his head off or reassign him.

“Er, excuse me? Which way is the Mercantile Wing?”

Ramone had to stop a Golem servant rolling past him. The Golem had a ball-like base and a humanoid-ish upper half. The crystalline parts in the Golem moved as magic flashed, and she spoke.

“The Mercantile Wing is two floors down and to your right, Lord Ramone Terland.”

“…Can you show me where it is?”

“Certainly, Lord Ramone Terland.”

 

——

 

The most important man in the world sat at a small desk in the Mansion of Golems, in the city of Velsgreth, in the Golem Lands—otherwise known as the lands of House Terland—in the northmost part of the continent of Izril. He had a tiny office; any non-[Lord] did, even the most important [Merchants].

They might go back to their own Merchant’s Guilds where they were [Kings] and [Queens] unto themselves with hundreds of people under them, but with the Terlands, they bowed and spoke softly. Gold was influence. Goods were incentives.

But Golems were the ultimate power here.

His name was Moltin Grousehawk. He was a [Financier of Fortunes]. His office was full of cabinets that contained files, but also often little baggies. Samples of gemstones or coins or valuable items like pieces of rare magical wood or Adamantium dust in small vials. He had scales, magnifying glasses, a vast assortment of tools, and right now, he had a desk full of tools in front of him.

He could have quit his job tomorrow and found work in any Merchant’s Guild anywhere in the world. As its Guildmaster. Moltin had one of those resumes that meant most nations would interview him for a position managing their economies.

He didn’t want to quit his job. He loved his job. The Terlands paid him well, but they also paid him in Golems. He had a servant Golem—low class, multi-purpose, not made of the most expensive materials—

Still above the quality of almost every other Golem in the world, beyond anything you could buy on the market. She—Terlands always assigned them names and personalities—could cook, clean, give him massages, even tidy his rooms and arrange things with her mechanical mind. Golems made by Terlands had other functions too, often inappropriate.

Moltin hadn’t ever pursued those functions, mostly because he felt like that would be the moment when he never came back from being a Terland-minded person. But he’d heard stories; oh my, you heard stories here about Terland love for Golems…

Ahem. He considered everything about his job splendid. House Terland operated a significant portion of Izril’s fortunes, and he, as one of their top people, had hundreds of thousands of gold pieces running across his desk each day. The Terlands were the richest of the Five Families, accept no substitutes. Golem-backed economies like theirs could grow nigh-unlimited crops. Golems could dig wells, build houses, chop wood—their only weakness was that there wasn’t ever enough of them.

So it was an odd thing, then, that Moltin Grousehawk was having a bad day. It was an odd thing that, in this moment, he considered himself to be the most important man in the world. He normally didn’t think that way, but today…he felt it was true.

He laid eight coins on the desk in front of him and put his hands on the table and watched them until they stopped trembling. Each coin was rather messed up. He’d carved a huge gouge out of each one with a puncher, taken multiple slivers out of each…a scale showed where he’d weighed them against other coins, and he had fifteen different [Blacksmiths]’ reports, each somewhat irate about being triple-checked. [Mage] reports as well.

“There is no doubt. Steady, Moltin, old boy, steady…”

He wasn’t that old, but Moltin liked to talk about himself like that and even dyed his hair grey to make himself look more impressive. Everyone loved an old [Financier].

What did he do? This wasn’t like the Golden Triangle thing. He’d called that one the day he’d noticed it and spent a month talking the Terlands out of investing heavily. This…this was different.

This is real. It’s real, and it’s going to—I don’t even know. How? A Relic? The Death of Magic? 

It could be anything, and that was where Moltin was starting as culprits went. He was working up his nerve to approach Lady Ulva herself when there was a rap at the door.

“Ah. Hello? Hello? This is Lord Ramone inspecting the office for…efficiency! Don’t say anything if you’re not there. All good? Splendid!”

A rather put-upon voice came from outside, and Moltin jumped in his chair. A Terland? Now? He knew Lord Ramone; he’d met the man when he was hired, oh, eleven years back. The [Lord] had visited this area of the Golem Mansion. Twice.

“Lord Ramone? Please—come in! You arrived just in time!”

“I did? Oh. Well then…”

A reluctant figure shuffled into the room. He had a handsome face with his illusion spells, but they didn’t quite conceal his bad posture. He stared at Moltin. Then checked the nameplate on the door.

“Financier Moltin! How are things with our trade? Doing well? If this is some internal matter, I’m sure you have it covered.”

Moltin took a deep breath. He well knew how interested Lord Ramone was in Terland affairs, but this was important.

“As a matter of fact, Lord Ramone, I was about to come looking for you. I am sure your class sent you to me. This is a matter that may imperil House Terland’s fortunes, and if I am not overstating the issue—potentially be worse for Izril than the Golden Triangle. By an order of magnitude!”

Ramone hesitated. His disinterested, bored face turned to a look of skepticism, then alarm.

“I say, that sounds bad. What is it? Something about the New Lands? More Reinhart tricks? They’re back, you know. We should keep our business away from them.”

His right cheek twitched involuntarily until he put a hand to it, and Moltin half-rose. He gestured at the coins in front of him.

“Not either, Lord Ramone. I’m well aware of the issues of the caravans in the New Lands, and I believe our expeditions are…this is far more insidious. Please sit, sir. I’ll ring a Golem for a drink. Do you know much about my work?”

“No…but shouldn’t you bring this up with someone if it’s that dire, er, Financier?”

Lord Ramone was sensing Moltin’s mood and hinting hard, but Moltin faced him and spread his hands.

“It would be either you as one of the Treasurers of House Terland, Lord Ramone, or I was thinking of approaching Lady Ulva for an immediate, emergency audience.”

Lord Ramone froze…then sat up. Some of his reluctance faded away, and he glanced at the door.

“Great Aunt Ulva’s on the warpath. If she hears I didn’t pay attention—explain this to me. Then I shall take it to Lady Ulva. If it’s important enough.”

Moltin nodded tightly. He might as well figure out how to explain it to the Terlands anyways. He took a breath, then lifted a coin.

“I shall attempt to be succinct, sir. As you know, I am a [Financier]. My job is to oversee the prosperity of House Terland. Trade, investments, the running of our Merchant’s Guilds…and fraud and forgery. We have lower-ranking members who investigate such issues, of course, but they forward fakes to me, and I try to identify new [Forgers] or fakes on the market.”

“Oh my. A lot of that, I assume?”

“It’s not as rampant as it could be, but faking gold coins is a common practice. Our Merchant’s Guilds catch it when others do not, I’m pleased to say. However, occasionally something crosses my desk that warrants my attention. I am a Level 46 [Financier of Fortunes], Lord Ramone. And I nearly missed this.”

Moltin emphasized his levels, and Ramone sat up even further. Both men accepted a cup of tea as it was brought in by a tea-making Golem, and Moltin held up two of the eight coins in front of him.

“These coins both come from different routes, but they entered House Terland’s coffers this week. One from all the way in southern Izril—the other from a local supplier in the north. They are both authentic gold coins, Shamefaces, which means they have no insignia like House Terland uses on its coins.”

“They are? Hold on…you’re right. They’re a bit mangled.”

“Tests, sir. Here’s a Terland coin for comparison. Note how it’s heavier and far more ornate?”

Terland coins were worth more than your average coin—except for a Salazsarian Showoff. Damn Drakes. Ramone was perhaps not the most engaged [Lord] in the world, but he wasn’t an idiot; Ulva Terland might foist her family off on tasks where they’d do little damage, but Ramone nodded with a frown.

“So? These two Shamefaces are cunning forgeries, is that it? Bypassed our Guilds and now we have a lot of lead in our coffers instead?”

That was the sensible answer, and Moltin gave him a faint smile bordering on the hysterical.

“No, Lord Ramone. Both these Shamefaces are authentic, real gold. Highly pure. The [Smiths] and [Mages] estimate around 88% purity. They’re real gold, not shaved for weight, not counterfeit, no oils to add to their density, nothing. I have run every test on them from water displacement to full mineral analysis spells, and they are real as can be.”

“…Then I don’t follow.”

Ramone tossed the coins back on the desk. Moltin pulled open a drawer and dumped a bag on the table.

“This is a rather substantive payment that entered the Merchant’s Guild’s coffers. All gold. Rather odd, but it happens. I had it sent to me. Inspect the coins, please, Lord Ramone. Tell me what you see.”

The man fumbled with the coins and muttered.

“…Feel the same. They’re smooth, polished…I don’t see anything wrong with them. I assume you’re going to tell me they’re all good. So what’s the problem?”

That was why Moltin was so alarmed. He couldn’t even blame the people who’d taken the coins; they would have triggered no detection or fraud Skills, and the Terlands had legion. He pointed at the coins.

“[Comprehensive Value Analysis] is one of my Skills, Lord Ramone. I can calculate the relative value of objects. It’s ever-fluctuating according to market pressures, and I will not bore you except to say this: each coin you see there, and each coin in that bag, are exactly the same. Exactly. In weight, composition of gold-to-silver, in size…there is only minute rubbing from their passage. But look at this.”

He pulled one of the good coins over, and then a magnifying array. It let him ‘see’ at a level far beyond even a bird. He pulled the coin over, turned it onto its side, and motioned Lord Ramone around.

“There’s a hairline cut running nearly horizontal along this coin, do you see? You won’t be able to pick it up with the eye, sir. It’s very faint; you’d expect to see just as many marks after a month of transit in any money pouch.”

Ramone craned his neck warily.

“I see it. If it’s that normal, why does it matter?”

“Now look at this one.”

Moltin dropped the coin. Picked up another. He rotated it with his fingers, and Ramone made a sound as it was brought under the magnifying spell.

“I don’t see the problem. You dinged that other coin worse than this little scratch. What, is this some manufacturing thing?”

“At this level of detail? No, Lord Ramone. It is such a fine mark that I doubt any foundry would even cast the cut. However, it is one commonality. I have been…poring over these coins for days, now. It is small, but it is the same across all of them. Now, observe. Here is another.”

Moltin had a knife that could cut through gold like butter. He kept it well clear of his fingers and sliced through the coin at an angle. He knew what he was looking for and showed Ramone the smallest bubble within the coin, caught in the smelting process. Then he cut another coin open in the same spot, and it had the same bubble. Then another. Then another.

Now, Lord Ramone was beginning to catch Moltin’s alarm. He returned to his seat and rubbed a finger along one temple.

“So they’re real gold?”

“Absolutely real, sir. I had some smelted into a gold bar. It was then used by an [Alchemist] with no ill effects in the resultant potion. This isn’t magically faked gold or an illusion spell. No one can fake this coin, unless it’s the Death of Magic or Archmage Eldavin. Though I suggest any investigation be left to experts.”

“Investigation? Why would this be a problem, Moltin?”

The [Financier of Fortune] removed some magical eyeglasses and saw them shaking. He gave Ramone a weak smile as he sat down and realized his poor heart was beating far, far too fast.

“Because, Lord Ramone—I think someone is not just paying for coins with real gold, but somehow…producing it. I have Skills that appraise the rarity of objects as well. Do you know Seith? Someone found…nevermind. I tried it on gold today. Gold. Rare. Not the rarest, but we make gold coins out of it because it’s valuable. Metals should be valuable, Lord Ramone. Do you know what I found?”

He was babbling, now, and the [Lord] was on his feet, standing there with a disturbed expression as Moltin laughed.

“No…?”

“I can’t find the value of gold, Lord Ramone. It’s as if there’s no value to it. As if it’s common as dirt. Tell me, Lord Ramone. What happens if every peasant has a handful of gold coins? What happens to the Terlands’ fortunes then?”

Diversify. We have to diversify our assets like the Reinharts. We have assets. No, we have to find who’s doing this and call every [Assassin] in the world on them. How long have they been doing this? How—

Moltin sat there, shaking, until he realized Ramone was leaving the room. At a brisk walk. Terlands were noble, after all. They were good at, well, presenting a calm front under pressure.

 

——

 

In short order, Ramone had another Treasurer, a rather harried Lady Merlotte, here. Her ire at being summoned to her job was high, but it faded as Moltin gave her the same explanation. She demanded more tests; he was collating all of his when they found the third Treasurer and he repeated the explanation.

By the end of the day, Moltin had told all of his fellow [Financiers] what he’d found, and Lady Ulva had been informed. He didn’t receive an audience with her; he was busy making plans.

Internal plans. Lord Ramone had been firm on that, and the other experts agreed. No one was to panic until they got a handle on the scope of this…whatever it was. They were all going to reach out to Guilds and [Merchants] and try to cycle coins as fast as they could.

No one was going to ask for Shameface coins; that gave the game away. Just make some big transfers of money so gold from outside came into their vaults. Then…

Moltin was up late, going over coins in the city’s Merchant Guild and investigating the vault. He confirmed these coins were recent. And perhaps it was a one-off Skill. The others were speculating that was it; some kind of fortune Skill like that [Emperor] fellow was rumored to have. That was a good explanation.

 

——

 

The next day, Moltin sat in his office, not really doing much as [Couriers] delivered the gold he was waiting for. Lord Ramone checked in twice, and Moltin had to explain the process and was told Lady Ulva wanted updates but that they would have things well in hand.

Moltin wanted to know what ‘well in hand’ meant, but he decided he didn’t in the end. Some Golems had begun analyzing the coins, and a few more…interesting people had come by to do their own appraisals, looking for fingerprints or ways to trace the origin of the coins.

The problem was, Moltin had already tried that. Whomever it was had the same Skills as the Golden Triangle person. Perhaps it was the same one? Anyways, running the backtrace wasn’t his specialty.

When the first Courier did arrive, Moltin spent an hour sorting coins before Ramone came by and ordered a Golem to do the job. It took a bit of doing to find a Golem with the right insight and abilities, but then there was a team of twenty sorting coins like lightning with lesser Golems hauling the coins away.

Moltin went to sleep that night reassured. He’d found only a hundred and twenty-two Shamefaces that were even close to his criteria as fakes. Ramone accepted Moltin’s report with an air of visible relaxation, and the [Financier] was relieved he hadn’t gone to Lady Ulva to begin with. He’d been right to be concerned, but House Terland was cycling all the coins it could, and several of its [Financiers] had taken Golem Horses to local Merchant’s Guilds to check. If he didn’t find any more coins, or only a few hundred, it would be clear there was no issue.

Only one thing kept Moltin tossing and turning until his serving Golem checked on him to see if he needed anything. His Skill. He couldn’t tell the value of gold.

He couldn’t tell what it was at all.

 

——

 

On the third day, Moltin found more Shameface coins. First—they came from Invrisil.

Thousands of them. The Golems began piling them up so fast that Moltin had gone for a sandwich when he came back and saw a pile of identical coins. He grabbed every servant and lesser [Accountant] and [Scribe] he could and got to work.

Shamefaces. Identical. Moltin was about to call into the Merchant’s Guild in Invrisil and put them on alert when he got a [Message].

 

To Moltin: found a bunch of your coins—First Landing. Overseas connection. It’s Terandria.

 

“Terandria?”

Moltin blinked. He had to wait for a Courier to run everything here—a very put-upon Hawk the Hare dumped a huge Chest of Holding on the ground, and Moltin tipped him in good coins, not the Shamefaces.

“What’s this all about?”

“Oh, you know, just moving coins around, Master Courier. Can I offer you some refreshments?”

The Courier hopped off; he’d dropped the chest on his foot. Moltin opened the chest, and his heart sank and lifted at the same time because they’d figured it out after all.

 

——

 

“Calanfer.”

Ramone slapped his knee as Moltin nodded.

“It makes sense, Lord Ramone. Calanfer has been spending largely this last week. Suspiciously so. Now, they could have received funds or just be about some project, but their coins are Shamefaces, at least, some of the ones that came from them directly. I’ve asked all our Merchant’s Guilds to send coins to us—we’re keeping the issue secret, of course—but all the port ones and our experts overseas. We’ll know tomorrow if it’s them.”

“Then what do we do? I need to report to Great Aunt Ulva. Tell people? Cut them off?”

“Some…punitive actions either overtly or secretly would be important, Lord Ramone. But I expect Lady Ulva will know what is best.”

The [Lord] rose and even clapped Moltin on the shoulder as he told the [Financier] he’d done well. Moltin stayed up that night confirming the Shamefaces were indeed all the same…and around midnight, he got another [Message].

 

To Moltin from Veedra: check the latest from Empire of Sands. It is widespread. Widespread. Now investigating multiple continents.

 

His heart skipped a beat. The [Financier] snapped awake suddenly as he began to hear something in his head. A rattling, tumbling sound. Like gold coins hitting the floor.

 

——

 

The Empire of Sands had Shamefaces. So did the King of Destruction, Nerrhavia’s Fallen…Ailendamus…

They’re everywhere. The confidence in the Calanferian link vanished overnight. With each passing hour, more Shamefaces poured in from transactions from nations around the world. Identical damn gold coins.

Every time someone brought in a new batch with a Golem, Moltin’s stomach hurt worse. He requested and got a tonic for it, but when he presented himself to Lady Ulva for his first meeting with her, he knew he was a wreck.

“Coffee, Financier Moltin? You look…distressed. Appropriately, I gather.”

The [Lady] was surrounded by her bodyguard Golems, and they’d checked him for weapons or any objects multiple times, even made him change into spare clothes for the audience. Which was just as well; Moltin’s outfit had been stained by tea and gold dust.

“I…believe House Terland is in something of a crisis, Lady Ulva. But I would be delighted, of course, to be proven wrong.”

Ulva Terland’s eyes narrowed as Moltin summarized the events. She demanded to see proof, of course, but turned to him as coins and reports were produced.

“Say this is true and there are thousands—”

“Hundreds of thousands perhaps, Lady Ulva.”

He made the mistake of interrupting her, and her aura pinned him like a bug with a needle through it.

“You’ve tested hundreds of thousands?”

“No, Lady Terland. I meant…we must extrapolate from the coins that go through our coffers. If a fraction of the coins are these Shamefaces, then the portion running through the world—”

She flicked her fingers.

“Ah, I see. Assume this is a growing problem and will not stop. What happens?”

“Gold becomes worthless.”

A long, ugly silence followed that statement. So unnerving that Moltin filled it with the desperate, half-jokey conversations he and the other experts had been trying to wrap their head around late at night with lots of drinks to steady themselves.

“S-so what we would do is put all our money into objects that will not lose value when gold coins collapse, Lady Ulva! House Terland has many such resources, I’m relieved to say.”

“Such as…?”

“Golems! Golems, food, steel, magic items…it is this—this concept I have come up with, Lady Ulva. Forgive me if it’s imprecise, but the theory goes that the value of an object is relative. If one has an ocean’s worth of water, water is not valuable.”

“Unless it is seawater, in which case, drinkable water is valuable.”

Moltin bobbed on his feet and nearly fell forwards.

“But in Chandrar’s Great Desert, or at sea, water is a precious commodity. Likewise…if the value of the gold coin is overwhelmed by too many gold coins, then another value must be found. Bartering, for instance, works.”

Ulva’s face was a mask of severity.

“One assumes that would mean the Merchant’s Guild would no longer do business. At least, not nearly as easily. Can one barter across Izril?”

“Not easily, Lady Terland. This is all to insulate us from the damage. I suggest…if word of this becomes wider-spread, that House Terland must find an alternative kind of value to establish a way to do transactions. But we must first change as much gold into value as we can.”

“While gold is still valuable. Assuming this is widespread.”

Her tone was uncertain about that last point, and Moltin dearly hoped he was wrong. But his head was spinning with odd concepts.

“Yes, Lady Terland.”

“I see. Then who else is aware of this issue?”

“Perhaps no one. Soon, I expect the most canny experts will figure it out. Salii the Secretary would have—maybe Yelroan the Flasher?”

“…The what?”

“Er, a name for a Gnollish expert, Lady Terland. Only a select few have the Skills, no, the insight to realize the issue. But it may spread if the Shamefaces continue appearing—people will notice the excess!”

“I see. Continue to update me. And create plans for this divestment of value, Moltin. You have House Terland’s faith in you.”

She lifted a hand that trembled with age more than fear; she had seen a Goblin King and didn’t quail that easily. Moltin was relieved and bowed and turned to go. He stopped at the doorway with a thought.

“Lady Terland?”

She turned, and one of her bodyguard Golems put a shield in front of her in an instant. Moltin flinched, and she spoke.

“What?”

“I…levelled last night. Conceptualizing the plans or discovering the Shamefaces. I cannot say which.”

You didn’t just level like that out of nowhere. Ulva Terland’s face was blocked by the shield, and her tone was unreadable.

“I see. You will report to me daily, and sooner if you discover anything else, Financier Moltin.”

“Yes, Your Ladyship.”

 

——

 

Two days later, Moltin got wind of a massive expenditure of gold from the Empire of Sands to House Wellfar. For ships. With Lady Ulva’s help, he begged, wheedled, and bullied his way into House Wellfar’s headquarters in First Landing and managed to snag a few coins from a very suspicious [Ship Treasurer].

When he tested them, he relaxed. They were visibly different, and even wear and tear at sea couldn’t hide the fact that they were all different kinds and alloys of gold.

“Looking for fakes, are you? We’re not so blind as to need Terland help, though I suppose I appreciate the concern.”

The [Ship’s Treasurer] gave Moltin a sardonic look. He executed a relieved bow.

“We have had a few, and I merely wished to test…ah, nevermind.”

Light as a feather, he turned, and the [Treasurer] snorted.

“Never you fear, House Wellfar checked the gold in person, Mister Moltin. This is just the advance payment. The real stuff’s coming in a treasure barge—well, multiple since every [Pirate] in the world would come after us. Higher quality than the Pirate’s Lucre coins there. Nearly ninety percent pure.”

Moltin froze. He kept his back turned as the tumbling grew louder in his head. Pirate’s Lucre was a term like Shameface for the mismatched bag of coins that you got from seafaring groups. They were never standardized. But if she had noticed it…

“Ninety percent, you say? The entire lot?”

“Newly minted from the Empire of Sands, I think. Just Shamefaces. But gold’s gold, and they’re a power to watch. Mister Moltin? Are you well? Mister Moltin…?”

 

——

 

A day later.

 

Lady Ulva made a call to someone in House Wellfar. A single gold coin was passed to Moltin by a scowling Lord of House Wellfar as the treasure barge disembarked. Moltin tested it. Then he ran an appraisal Skill on the treasure barge.

They arrested him instantly and nearly gutted him on the spot as a [Thief], but his Golem bodyguards protected him. Moltin was still thrown in jail for a full day until House Terland got him out. When they did, Lord Ramone accused the Wellfars of torture, which they denied.

—He’d found Moltin in his rather nice cell giggling hysterically and white as a sheet.

They were all Shamefaces.

 

——

 

One week later.

 

He was hiding in his rooms when the serving Golem dragged him out, and he clawed at her hand. But she carried him out and showed him another bag of gold. Another!

He hid his face from it. Bright gold. Bright and beautiful and all wrong. He could tell in a glance. Just a glance now!

Shamefaces! Shamefaces! 

“Someone call a [Healer]. He’s having another fit—”

Everywhere. Everywhere! Moltin ran to a map and put in another red pin and stared at the map covered in dots. Then he tore it off his walls. Laughed hysterically—before screaming at a [Guildmaster] who asked why they were buying so many goods.

Lord Ramone was sitting in a chair at a desk he’d had brought to the Mercantile Wing, and he poured over ledgers with ink-stained fingers. The sound grew louder and louder until Moltin began hitting his head against the wall to make it stop.

The coins kept falling. Kept falling and falling and f—

 

——

 

Two and a half weeks since his first encounter with Lord Ramone.

 

“Financier Moltin? I am pleased to see you in good health.”

[Financier of Fortunes] Moltin Grousehawk adjusted his collar in the reflection of one of Lady Ulva Terland’s mirror-polished Golem bodyguards. He bowed.

“I do regret my…indisposition, Lady Ulva.”

“I have little patience for failure, Financier Moltin, or incompetence. As you are neither, I shall merely content myself with the [Healer]’s bill of health. It shall be Lord Moltin, if you serve House Terland well.”

He bowed again, deeper. The pronouncement changed not a single muscle on Moltin’s face.

“It is an honor, Lady Terland, to be considered for a noble class. I, selfishly, hope that my services will not be so direly needed.”

She nodded, coughing as she drank something that smelled like a thousand herbalist remedies combined into one.

“Then you shall speak before this council of the Lords of the Heart. Lord Xitegen is the only member not present, and he shall be informed…covertly…on the matters discussed. It may be mere happenstance. I do not believe it is. As leader of House Terland, I am prepared to hear Financier Moltin’s opinions on the future actions we must take to ensure our descendants continue to prosper.”

A small group of [Lords] and [Ladies] susurrated and looked at him as Moltin stood in the middle of the room, surrounded by a circle of the Terlands’ highest-ranking nobles. He was calm. Deliberately, artificially…magically, definitely.

But more than that? He knew what had to be done. Moltin stared at his serving Golem, who had his files and papers all in order, and in her he saw the romance of Terlands.

—Clinging to his caretaker Golem as she held him like a baby, craving the surety of a being who seemed calm, mysterious, and subservient—oh yes, Moltin had understood what Archmage Zelkyr had loved about his creations. The madness of Terlands was in him. You could marry a Golem under Terland law. Upgrade them, leave them something behind that endured long after you were dead.

Perhaps that was what Ulva had seen; Golems endured. More than money. So it was with a razor that Moltin began to speak, walking over to a map and having files passed around. This would hurt…but it dearly needed to be done.

“We must act swiftly and in secrecy, first, Lady Ulva. I do not recommend informing the other members of the Five Families before our affairs are well underway. When the shift happens, if it does…it would behoove us all if the event were as mild as possible. But by the end of this meeting, I hope you will approve the following message to be sent to every Terland-aligned [Guildmaster] regarding the following actions. The second wave shall be the Five Families, [Merchants], and all allies in good regard.”

“…And what are we to do, Financier Moltin?”

An old Terland [Lord] was playing with a gold coin, not a Shameface, but a Terland-minted coin, staring at it as if it were somehow different from the thing he had known all his life. Disturbed, all of them, except for Ulva, whose gaze was sharp and intent. Moltin bowed.

“Redefine value, Lord Nouzcrat. It has been done before. The foundries are already in motion, and I have put a number of samples in the cloth bags before you. Each material and object has its values and disadvantages, and I must inform you that the overall…style of each unit of monetary value may change. We have an, ah, a [Fashionista] and similar classes, but the base composition of each new unit should be our first pick.”

“You mean coin?”

Moltin saw Ulva smile slightly and felt his own lips twitch.

“Coin, Lord Nouzcrat…a coin is an option. But a coin is an idea. It could be a mark on a piece of wood. Beautiful paper. It could be—anything.”

They listened, and so did he. Until that tumbling sound faded from his mind and he heard a new voice instead. A welcome one.

 

[Financier of Fortunes Level 50!]

[Class Change: Financier of Fortunes → Mint-Lord of the New Era obtained!]

 

——

 

“I think Liscor needs its own currency.”

Krshia stopped chewing on her fish porridge breakfast and gave Lism the kind of stare that suggested it was too early for this and also he was an idiot.

Undeterred, he forged ahead in that Lism way.

“It makes sense. Doesn’t it?”

“You’ve been talking to yourself at night again. Council meeting is in twenty. We’ll have to run through the rain. Hrr. Smells like the sewers have flooded, no? Damn wetrats.”

Lism detected the familiar odor of sewers backing up.

“They’re making nests again? I swear we fixed it last year.”

“If we did, it’s unfixed. Pass me the sauce.”

Lism passed some of the fish sauce and persisted.

“I was thinking we could make it out of paper.”

“Paper?”

Krshia didn’t immediately dismiss the idea, but gave Lism a long look.

“Have you been talking to…Joseph? Miss Imani?”

“Them? No. Why?”

“Nevermind. I thought…why do we need a new currency?”

“Rising costs of food.”

Krshia passed a paw over her face and tilted her head back. She neither moved nor said anything. Lism took another bite of fish porridge.

“You see, if we issue all Liscorians, say, a hundred units, then they’re suddenly able to use that money in the city. No gold issue of paying nine coppers for a bag of Yellats.”

He waited. Krshia stared at the ceiling. Lism slyly wound his tail around the table.

“Someone’s grumpy. Maybe you need some buttering—”

“Pass the water.”

He passed the water pitcher. Krshia took a long drink. Lism waited.

“Well?”

 

——

 

“You see, it’s all about making a…a currency that costs less to make than a gold coin. The value of a gold coin’s a gold coin. It’s in the gold. But if we had a piece of paper—a Liscorian Mark—I just came up with that—we can use that inside the city.”

Councilwoman Alonna was eating a yogurt and fruit breakfast at the table. Tismel had yet to arrive, and Elirr and Raekea usually came in together. Jeiss was dead…

Krshia gave Alonna some kind of signal over Lism’s shoulder, then looked innocent when his head snapped around. Alonna massaged her temples.

“Okay. Currency. Why, Lism?”

“Why not? Other groups issue their own gold coins.”

“But you’re talking a unique kind of money, like the old mithril coinage or…this is about the cost of food, isn’t it? I’m all for that, Lism, but there’s the snap elections everyone’s talking about. We have to either put the idea to rest or go for it.”

“And the sewers are backing up.”

Krshia added. Lism glowered at her.

“And if we put the money on paper, we could hire a [Scribe] and make a thousand Liscorian Marks for a fraction of the cost!”

Alonna was the Mage’s Guild’s Guildmistress. She frowned as she pulled a piece of paper out and began writing things down.

“So how does that solve rising costs of money?”

“Well…Liscorians pay for goods and services with the Liscorian Mark. That way, you have to have a mark to buy Yellats. The price of Yellats isn’t influenced by rich spenders coming into Liscor. In fact, we could make it so houses can only be bought with Liscorian Marks! Citizens only! How about that?”

“Unless they buy the Liscorian Mark with gold. You’d have to exchange it. So if you had a lot of gold, you’d buy a lot of Liscorian Marks. That’s the same situation we’re in with extra steps, Lism.”

“Yes, but it’d be currency each citizen has—”

The female Drake raised one eyebrow.

“Lism, what’s a Liscorian Mark worth?”

“What?”

“You’re a [Shopkeeper]. What’s the value of a Liscorian Mark?”

“One gold piece? Er—less?”

“Prove it.”

Lism faltered.

“What do you mean? If we make it—”

“A Liscorian Mark isn’t worth anything, Lism. It’s a piece of paper. A gold coin’s worth a gold coin’s amount of gold. Some gold coins are worth more, like a Salazsarian coin. If you hand me a hundred thousand Liscorian Marks and tell me it’s worth a hundred thousand gold coins, I’d tell you to get bent. The money is worthless unless it means something. What can you buy with a Liscorian Mark?”

“Anything. It’s money, Alonna.”

Lism snapped. Alonna raised her brows. She scribbled on her notes, then tore off a piece of paper with the words ‘Liscorian Mark’ written on it.

“That’s for a bag of sugar from your shop. Give it to me.”

“That’s not a real Liscorian Mark.”

“It’s about as real as what you’re proposing, Lism. If it’s a piece of paper, it doesn’t matter how fancy it is.”

“If people start using it—”

“They need a reason to use it, Lism. You’re not Erin Solstice. What is a Liscorian Mark worth?”

He opened his mouth. Alonna waited and took a sip of her coffee. She went back to eating as Krshia combed her fur. Lism sat, arms folded, glaring at the ground.

“I swear we had a solution for the sewers last year, though.”

“Hrr. That’s what I said, Alonna. About the marks. The sewers are the real thing. We should get someone to figure out what’s happening. Who used to sort that out?”

“Olesm?”

“Damn. Shall we ask him if he knows? Let me find someone to check the records…”

 

——

 

“Okay, new idea. Each citizen gets ten Liscorian Marks. But a hundred Liscorian Marks…buys you a house. No more foreign investors buying them up. Liscorian Mark is now worth a hundredth of a house.”

The rest of the Council looked up, and Strategos Olesm paused in the middle of his report. He was reflected in a scrying orb, sitting in his tent, looking—well, like a military Drake. Lism was so proud of him.

“…What?”

Krshia sighed loudly.

“Ignore him, Olesm. He’s been on this all day. So you’re saying we have an undead rat-killer in our sewers? Made by Pisces? And it’s…gone rogue?”

Olesm shrugged as Lism began whispering in Elirr’s ear. The Gnoll tried to edge away from him, so Lism switched to Tismel, who was too cowardly to run. Tismel and Zalaiss didn’t even bother showing up to the Council all the time since they were always ignored or outvoted, but the backed up sewers were increasing in frequency.

“That’s correct, Councilwoman Krshia. Pisces did put his rat-killer in the sewers, and it was so effective both he and I forgot about it. I suspect, rather than rogue, it just broke down from fighting a bigger monster. Or the rains swept it away. It could even just be overwhelmed; the rainy season makes things worse.”

Krshia drummed her paws on the table.

“Then we need to hire adventurers again.”

Alonna grimaced.

“Or get some [Necromancers] to make more rat-killers.”

Raekea snorted loudly as the [Armorer] rotated an injured shoulder.

“Necromancers? You mean the ones from Rheirgest that got chased away? I’m sure they’ll love to help. If word gets out we’re using their services, we’ll have more riots.”

Elirr sighed loudly.

“It’s that or backed up sewers. Adventurers never do the job right.”

Everyone turned, waiting for Tismel and Zalaiss to say something, but the Cobbler Guild’s Guildmaster had a thousand-yard stare.

“My toilet’s overflowing. How much do [Necromancers] cost?”

Lism interrupted loudly.

“The real question is: will they even work with us? It’s another visit to The Wandering Inn. Let’s appeal to Miss Lyonette. It’s time for taxes.”

“Isn’t she too far from the city?”

Lism waved a claw over this minor feature.

“She still works with the Watch and the door and various services. The point is, we could tax her again, but we’re obviously going to cut her a break for being such a good friend to the city. Maybe we offer her a discount? Now, about houses. No one but a Liscorian buys a house. Problem solved. A hundred Liscorian Marks buys a house. Doubly solved. Thoughts?”

Tismel looked at Zalaiss. Zalaiss stared at Alonna, and the Guildmistress shrugged as Elirr scratched his head. Raekea lifted a paw.

“…Who pays for the house?”

“The builders, the architects, and so on.”

“So a Liscorian Mark is worth a hundredth of a house?”

“Yes. Value achieved!”

Lism gave Alonna and Krshia a triumphant look. Raekea rubbed at her chin.

“And only Liscorians can buy houses or apartments?”

“Yep.”

“Okay, then I’m a rich Gnoll from Salazsar. I’ll pay you, Tismel, to buy an apartment for me. You manage it, run it, and give me all the money. There.”

Raekea sat back as Lism’s mouth opened. Tismel added in a pedantic, annoying tone.

“And restricting purchasing to only Liscorians will ruin our profits! It’s like these rent limits, Lism. You may have been right that expanding Liscor added jobs and income, but if you don’t let [Landlords] charge more—”

Lism threw his shoe at Tismel’s head, and the Drake ducked. Olesm covered a smile.

“Councilmembers, I have a job to get to. I’ll leave you to it. But, ah, Uncle?”

The Drake got a smile from Lism, and Olesm went on.

“…Giving every Liscorian a hundred Liscorian Marks or whatever you’re planning sounds like a good way to cause chaos. In the best case scenario, everyone gets a lot of money in their pockets. It doesn’t solve people not earning enough to keep up with prices. If the cost of Yellats is high, I’d focus on that.”

Lism’s face fell as Krshia gave Olesm an affectionate smile. Tismel handed Lism’s shoe back to him with an air of smugness. Lism raised the shoe again.

 

——

 

The Council didn’t always have meetings. Lism was talking with Geillsten, the [Tax Collector], and the Drake looked very, very happy.

“I’ve been waiting for this day.”

“So you think it’s a good idea? Look at the varnishing. You know that Shield Spider glue that someone came up with? It creates this lovely glossy effect.”

Lism flexed the Liscorian Mark he’d had prototyped, and Geillsten blinked.

“What? No. Councilmember, that piece of paper is useless. I don’t think restricting buyers to Liscorians will solve the housing issue. Frankly, what’s the problem? The treasury is overfull with all the housing sales. We could build as many houses as we want and, well, give them away.”

He and Lism eyed the treasury doors on the far wall. Lism had seen their budget for this year, and it was one of the reasons he was backing away from gold coins. They had so much damn gold…

“What, build houses and give them away?”

“I mean, we could. Not that I’m a [Councilmember], ha-ha! But if the election’s coming up, do you think I might have a chance?”

The Drake smoothed his neck-spines and stood a bit straighter. Lism gave him a thin smile.

“There’s no legal reason for an election, Geillsten.”

“No…but everyone’s saying it’s a good idea.”

“Everyone or someone speaking loudly at the pub?”

When the [Tax Collector] hesitated, Lism sped forwards.

“Why is today a good day?”

The [Tax Collector]’s eyes shone.

“The Wandering Inn. Every instinct in my head is telling me that taxing that spot is worth more than the Mage’s Guild, Runner’s Guild, and Merchant’s Guild combined.”

Lism whistled.

“Erin can’t have made that much money, can she?”

“I don’t know, but I’ll nip on over and see how much they owe soon enough.”

Geillsten rubbed his claws together, and Lism noted that down for their conversation with Lyonette. The rest of the Council was putting together a budget for the undead rat-killers and a backup involving a bounty with the Adventurer’s Guild; they’d made Lism come down here to ask what an acceptable tax break for Lyonette would be. Geillsten glanced at Lism and lowered his voice.

“Frankly, Councilmember, we have so much damn gold in the vaults that I’m nervous about thieves, even with Watch Commander Venim upgrading security. We may wish to transfer some of the gold to Merchant’s Guilds in Pallass, say? If you had more projects to spend our money on, I’d be more relieved. An odd thing to say, of course, but…”

Lism nodded. Liscor had pulled in so much money on the sales of land that he frankly didn’t know what to do with it. Even with Hexel’s fees and all the construction work, Liscor was rich. The door tax on Invrisil, Pallass, and Celum didn’t hurt either.

“Build houses…I sort of like that idea.”

“What? That’s a joke, Councilmember, a joke. It’s not very Drake-like to give anything away for free, is it?”

“It’s not very Drake-like to live in a city where an honest citizen can’t afford a house either. Or to let your neighbors get kicked out of their homes.”

“Ah, well, yes, but everyone has to make money.”

“I’m not stopping anyone from making money. But are you going to afford a twelve hundred-gold-coin house? And that’s cheap by today’s damn standards!”

“Well…”

The two Drakes were so busy talking that a panting [Aide] had to call twice to get their attention.

“Councilmember! The yearly contribution from Liscor’s army has arrived! They’ve sent Chests of Holding filled with gold and spoils from battle!”

Lism and Geillsten half-turned, and Lism saw eighteen large Chests of Holding being dragged in. Each one was filled with gold; he hadn’t been in charge last year, but he knew what it was. Liscor’s army had been the main source of income for Liscor for most of its existence. Today?

He waved a claw.

“Yes, splendid. Can you put it over there? We’ll get it into the treasury soon.”

The [Aide] faltered. She was rather goggle-eyed at the amounts, but she hadn’t seen the budgets.

“B—um, Wing Commanders Narkr and Xith are also ready for a meeting about procedure in Liscor, Councilmember. They’re waiting downstairs. General Axter is also prepared to address the Council.”

This time, Lism did turn with a frown on his face.

“They’re not scheduled in for today. We’re busy with the sewers. We’ll have a convivial chat with the army—later. Can you get them squeezed in sometime this week?”

“But the army—”

Ah, the copper coin dropped. Lism remembered the old Council and imagined that if he didn’t have any coins in the treasury, he’d be scraping and bowing over the army and taking all their suggestions at face value.

In his opinion, the army hadn’t been here for the Solstice or the moths or the damn siege. And it had sent gold, which was all very well and good. He cleared his throat.

“If the two Wing Commanders object, tell them that we can send the gold back. You know, support the [Soldiers] on the front and all that? I know healing potions are dire right now.”

The [Aide]’s mouth opened. Lism went back to talking to Geillsten.

“We’ll hear their requests later. No, wait!”

He called the Drake back, then handed her something. She stared down at the bright piece of paper with a grinning Lism on it. She stared at Lism, and he brushed at his neck-spines.

“…It’ll probably be Sserys on there. This is just a prototype. How does it look? How much do you think this is worth? Do you think you could go down to the market and try to buy something with it?”

 

——

 

Krshia elbowed Lism a fourth time in the side, hard, and Watch Captain Zevara stopped turning the Liscorian Mark over in her claws.

“Oh, so that’s what you were doing. Alright, get her out of the lockup. I thought it sounded too stupid to be a forgery attempt or a scam. But when I asked The Wandering Inn, I was told…”

She cleared her throat, embarrassed, and Lism avoided staring at the [Aide] who was holding onto the bars in the Watch’s barracks off the main street.

“Er, very good of you, Watch Captain, terribly sorry about the misunderstanding.”

Krshia’s elbow caught him in the ribs this time, and he winced.

 

——

 

They had a fight outside the barracks as they walked at random through their city, avoiding puddles and arguing loudly as citizens looked their way. Half wanted something done, be it sewers, this issue or that, or to ask about the damn election, but when they saw Lism and Krshia half-shouting at each other, they backed off.

That was Lism and Krshia. Like a cat and dog fighting. In this case, it was a genuine argument.

“—my fault I’m trying to do something for the city! You’re the one not looking at the big picture!”

“The big picture does not have your face on it, Lism! You heard Alonna and Geillsten. Making money is not as simple as hiring a [Scribe], no! Do you think I don’t know anything about currencies? Silverfangs trade city-to-city all our lives! You can’t fix the rising prices by inventing a new currency!”

She tossed his Liscorian Mark in the sewer grate, and Lism nearly dove in after it. He got up, covered in water, and stormed after her.

“You hairbrained idiot! That was a beautiful piece of work! I should have known Krshia Silverfang wouldn’t be able to see beyond her own nose when it comes to economic realities. You couldn’t buy a half-eaten salmon on discount! It’s a wonder you even managed to keep your store open, you fur-brained hyena, no, you thick-headed Raskghar—”

He saw Krshia’s shoulders hunch, and she stopped dead in the street. When she turned, Lism took a few steps back.

“Ah—that Raskghar comment might have been too far. Krshia, let’s discuss this like Councilmembers. We are in public. Krshia? Krshia, my unprecedented discount—”

He decided to run for it.

 

——

 

They made up with a covert kiss, though Lism was still smarting. It was indeed a love-hate relationship sometimes, and when he got Krshia really mad…well, that could be exciting.

Other times, you got a kick right to your economic realities, and it still hurt. However, once Krshia had calmed down, she apologized for throwing Lism’s currency in the sewers, and he apologized for a lot more.

They were almost about to hurry back to their apartment when someone coughed. Loudly.

“Excuse me. This is perhaps not a public area as it is behind my shop, but I feel as though I have witnessed an extremely upsetting event and would like it to end and not continue.”

Krshia and Lism leapt apart, babbling excuses. They turned and saw an Antinium with a bag of something in his hand.

Garry the [Baker] had a huge, white baker’s hat on his head, getting wet, and an apron on. But despite the downpour, he was putting a few objects on a ledge for a bunch of…cats?

A small herd of cats had appeared, meowing, and Lism saw Garry was putting meatballs out for them. It was such an odd sight that Lism and Krshia stared.

They had entered the southeastern area of Liscor, which had used to be a poorer, rougher area—until the Antinium had given the area a facelift. Instead of the mostly abandoned streets around the Free Hive, an entire economy based around Antinium had appeared.

There were Antinium-friendly restaurants, shops run by Antinium and catering towards them with special chairs, Silveran’s Cleaners…it wasn’t a bad place at all. Especially with the Antinium patrols around; crime had decided it had better places to be.

“Are those stale meatballs?”

That was Lism’s question as Krshia smiled at Garry. The [Baker] tilted his head.

“Why would I feed stale meatballs to cats?”

“…Why would you feed fresh meatballs to cats?”

“Because cats deserve fresh meatballs, of course. Hello, cattos. Hello, Stripes, hello, Orangeball, hello, Violeteye, hello…”

Garry was petting cats with multiple hands as he handed the meatballs out. Now, Lism wasn’t the most friendly with Antinium. He didn’t hate them, and he’d come around to them like Gnolls, but he didn’t know many that well.

But Garry…Lism had a lot of time for Garry. Of all the Antinium, he was, in Lism’s opinion, one of the best. He didn’t go off to war or do the praying thing like Pawn—he ran a business. A charitable business.

All stuff Lism approved of. Lism had run sort of a similar practice where a neighborhood association took care of elderly people or those who’d lost family members, but Garry had gone a step further and just started handing out bread at his bakery for free. Quality food too, not stale bread.

Every [Baker] might give away a loaf or two of old bread to someone looking hungry, but Garry baked his bread to be given away at a loss. It wasn’t Drake-like, but it was hard to fault. His generosity even seemed to extend to cats.

“How’s the baking business, eh, Garry? Lots of, ah, customers of late? Very good on you for keeping your prices so low. I imagine you’re levelling a storm, what with all your custom.”

Lism went for a jovial tone, but to his surprise, Garry heaved a huge sigh.

“Business has been exceedingly bad, Councilmember Lism. Thank you for asking. It has been a rough month. I had hopes that Tax Collector Geillsten would take it easy upon me, but I owed nearly six silver coins to the city.”

“…Six?”

“Yes. A considerable expense. I suppose my copper-coin rates have attracted too much income, but it is hard to cut copper coins in half, so I have had to fix my prices at one copper coin per meal. I don’t know how I will make ends meet next month.”

A few cats meowed mournfully as Krshia and Lism exchanged glances. Lism’s mouth worked.

“You’re…in danger of closing down?”

That was bad. People depended on Garry’s shop. Over a hundred. Garry clacked his mandibles together as he took off his hat and squeezed it to get the water out of it.

“No. The Free Queen is quite happy to allocate me my budget. However, I can no longer take on new clients. I have been calculating, but even with Miss Lyonette’s donations and the profits I earn from my regular baking…I have been forced to refuse more clients. It was very hard today. Very hard.”

Ah. Lism felt the weight on his heart lift a moment. Liscor needed people like Garry. If he were hurt or forced to close tomorrow…

The city shouldn’t need people like Garry. It should be fine on its own. Damn costs of Yellats. Nine coppers per bag! And if it’s that costly for Yellats, how much for salt or butter?

The same urge that had bugged him all day made Lism feel for another of the Liscorian Marks. He stared at it glumly as Krshia gave him a warning stare, and then she smiled at Garry.

“I am sure that your clients understand, Garry. It is a very generous thing you do for people, yes?”

The [Baker] shrugged as he passed out the last of his meatball to the cats.

“Oh, yes, Councilwoman Krshia. I help Comrei and Miss Biscale and Lemloux, who lost his wife this winter—it is very sad—and so many more. They understand that I am cutting down on expensive ingredients so more people can be fed, and they are all very grateful. And the people who come to me that I must refuse will go hungry. Perhaps they will only be hungry. Perhaps they will die.”

Krshia hesitated.

“Er…but you cannot feed all of Liscor.”

Garry nodded, his face unreadable, his voice steady.

“They cry and beg me to change my mind. Some have little babies. The prices are very, very high. So I do feel good when I give out food to my regular clients. Then I turn down hungry babies. On the whole, I am emotionally unwell. I wish Miss Erin were here. I do not feel like a [Baker of Presents] today, Miss Krshia, though I thank you for your statements to the contrary. I could be doing more. I should be.”

At this point, Lism sort of wanted to go back to Krshia hitting him in his fiscal uncertainties. Hearing Garry talk was worse. He dug around in his pockets.

“Hold on, my shop’s been doing just fine. You said Miss Lyonette donates to you?”

“Yes, quite a lot, Councilmember Lism. But I have only a few assistants, and I cannot buy all the grain in the city, let alone bake it. I have considered adding more workers and expanding my shop, but I must be discreet with the money she gives me for reasons.”

What reasons? Lism brushed that aside as he proffered some gold coins.

“If it helps you add more clients to your list, Garry, I could give you a good amount per month.”

Garry accepted the coins with a slight bow, and Krshia gave some too with an approving look at Lism. That was probably why she still stayed around his apartment. Every time she got annoyed or angry, well, he got that approving look like that, sometimes surprised or gratified, but it made up for the rest.

That was the Lism way.

The Drake and Gnoll stood around awkwardly with Garry as they tried to raise his spirits. The cats hopped away after eating their fill, and Garry shook his head.

“It is not just money, though I thank you for your donations, Councilmembers. Even with more money, I can only run a shop so large on my own. My two assistants do help me bake, but I was thinking I’d need dozens of workers and so much food that it would become financially untenable to operate at such a loss. Miss Lyonette might fix that, but…I cannot feed a city.”

“True. It’s damn true. You know the price of Yellats today, Garry?”

“Nine copper coins? It is a very upsetting number, Lism.”

The two nodded at each other, and to Lism’s surprise, Krshia chimed in.

“It is simply a multitude of costs, yes? If people are hungry, I would suggest wheat or another grain…but baking it into bread requires an oven and time. So Yellats become the staple, or fish. It would be easier if bread prices were lowered, but they have all risen because of our visitors. A great concern, and it is why I have told Gnolls to go to your shop. Both if they cannot afford anything else and to patronize your wares.”

“You care about the Yellat prices after all, Silverfang?”

Lism was astonished. Here he thought she’d been ignoring his struggles all day! She glowered at him and sniffed.

“I do, Lism, but I do not think your fake money is the solution, no! If I could solve it, I would, but sewers are something I can fix, so I focus on that.”

Garry tilted his head.

“I only know about the realities of prices of food. What is this new currency, please?”

“Oh, it’s just this idea here…”

Embarrassed all of a sudden, Lism showed Garry a Liscorian Mark. Garry felt at it, admiring how it was waterproof and shiny.

“It is a very lovely piece of paper, Councilmember Lism. I understand it is worthless to most, but Antinium who have nothing would love it because it is colorful. I would give you a loaf of bread for it.”

“Well, then, it’s useful only to Garry’s Antinium Edibles.”

Lism joked weakly, and Garry nodded. Lism’s mouth kept running, processing it for his brain.

“…The houses are just too damn expensive. We can build as many as we want, but if they go on the open market, no one can afford them. It’s a damn shame. The same as someone going hungry in Liscor. And here you are, Garry, and I have this…”

He stared down at the Liscorian Mark. He stared at Garry. And an idea popped into Lism’s head.

“Krshia. How much money does that damn door to Invrisil, Pallass, and Celum generate each day?”

“Hrr. Hundreds of gold pieces, sometimes? We have a chart.”

The door could fund a huge amount of things in the city over time. Not all of the Watch, obviously, or the entire sewer cleaning bill, but it was a not insubstantial amount of money. Lism was peering at Garry, who felt at his face in case he had something on it.

“Gold. And the prices are going up.”

Garry nodded cautiously.

“This is a factual statement we have all made. If we are repeating things, my name is Garry. I make the meatballs for the cats out of fish, sometimes.”

Lism was snapping his claws. An idea was sprouting in his head, completely original. Insane, actually, but all the pieces were there. Garry, Liscorian Marks, rising prices…

“Why not? We’re the Council. We can do whatever the hell we want. We have tons of buildings we own…not a giveaway. That’s not Drakeish. Raffles are. Lotteries. Dead gods, like a lottery in Market Street! Krshia, remember when we had those prizes and we were giving tickets to all our customers?”

Krshia was eying Lism warily and feeling at his forehead.

“I remember it caused a huge fight. We had so many people trying to win the prizes—”

“Yes, yes! But city-wide! Every eligible Liscorian citizen! For each house some Wall Lord buys, we can build two and give them away! And Garry! Garry’s Antinium Edibles isn’t enough! Don’t you see?”

Lism shook Garry, and the baker’s voice wobbled out of his mouth.

“I do not see. I believe I am getting alarmed.”

A few Soldiers appeared down the alleyway, and Lism let go hurriedly.

“Sorry, sorry. Baker Garry, do you have an hour? We need to get back to City Hall. Krshia, with me! Come on!”

“Lism, what are you talking about?”

Krshia was exasperated, but Lism was already running. He managed a few words as Garry, Krshia, and the cats all looked at each other.

“Free house lottery! Liscorian Marks! Bakery! A Garry Bakery!”

Garry’s antennae twitched. He uncrumpled his chef’s hat and put the soggy piece of fabric back on his head. Krshia opened her mouth, then started jogging after Lism.

 

——

 

“The plan is simple. We have a food and housing crisis in Liscor. So what we do is we lower the price of both.”

“If we cap rent any lower, the [Landlords] will riot, Lism.”

In the front row, Alonna raised her hand. She and the rest of the Council were all sitting there, along with Garry and half a dozen cats. Lism had a bunch of drawings and budgets he’d pinned to a cork board, and he was nodding at her.

“We can’t keep forcing the prices lower, it’s true, Alonna. But people don’t want to keep renting. They’d like a home, it’s just that no one can afford a house. Except for our investors…or Liscor itself. We’ve been paying for all this construction. Why not have Hexel build apartments, houses, and then hold a lottery? Winner gets a house—for free.”

“Free?”

Every Drake in the room recoiled, and Lism’s own tongue tried to exit his mouth and strangle him for this nonsense. But Krshia’s ears perked up, and Lism pointed at her.

“Why not? Gnolls don’t have houses. They have those yurts, and Krshia says every member in a tribe wouldn’t pay for one.”

Everyone looked at Krshia, and she grinned faintly.

“Why would they? We’re part of a tribe. If someone lost theirs, we’d give them an old one, perhaps, or make a new one. If they’re without a place to sleep, how could they do any work?”

“Exactly. Start giving away houses and suddenly land gets less valuable. We still get money in the end; houses have property taxes, people will want more furniture, but it gives all our citizens a leg up. And then, at the same time, we fix the food issue.”

“…Okay, he’s mad, but I’ll hear him out. Go on.”

Hexel the [Architect] looked amused by the entire concept. He hadn’t balked at the idea of designing homes on the city’s coin, and Elirr was stroking his chin.

“You cannot fix the issue of Yellat prices with new currencies, Lism. Food costs more; this is a fact, yes? Someone has to pay for it.”

“Someone does. If your average citizen is surviving on Yellats, they’re not happy. Food has to be coming out, or people will riot. I’d riot if I were eating raw Yellats for a month. So what’s the solution? What’s the solution?”

Lism slapped the board and stared at Garry, at the Council. No one said anything; Raekea was scratching her head and making a twirling motion with her finger at Alonna, and Lism shouted.

“Let them eat bread!”

No one applauded. Garry raised a hand.

“Bread is more expensive than Yellats, Councilmember Lism. Also, if I am here, does that mean I am now part of the Council?”

Lism shook his head.

“No, no, don’t you see? If it costs too much to buy basic food—then Liscor should be paying for that food. I’m saying we take the money from the door, the money that lets visitors come in and raise prices—and we pay for wheat, grain, and sell it cheap!”

“You want to buy grain and sell it at a loss? You’ll have every [Trader] in Liscor coming around to buy it all up and resell it somewhere else.”

Alonna shook her head, and Lism pointed at her.

“Ah. Aaaaah. I thought of that. I’m not saying we’re selling grain. We’re selling bread.”

Raekea sounded exasperated; she’d been wading through flooded sewers all morning.

“You bake grain into bread, Lism. Who’s doing th—”

She broke off. Everyone stared at Garry. He held up a mirror to stare at himself. Krshia’s eyes lit up.

“Oh.”

They had it in a second. Lism pointed at Garry.

“Everyone knows [Baker] Garry. Name me a better [Baker] in the city. You can’t! He’s known for giving food away, but he has limits. But what if he had…a hundred employees? Paid for by the city? Grain that we pay for, and he bakes bread and gives it out—”

“For free?”

“For a Liscorian Mark! One mark, one piece of bread! There’s your damn value, Alonna! We’ll have to have a cap on who can buy it to prevent idiots from walking away with it, but who cares if someone comes here and buys some bread from Garry’s Antinium Edibles? The cost of the door pays for that bread and then some!”

Lism threw up some of the Liscorian Marks into the air, and Garry caught one. Now, Elirr was thinking.

“I know several people who would be delighted to have bread at cheap rates. There has to be a catch. We are paying for it; that is the catch.”

Alonna was scribbling on a balance sheet, trying to work out if it was feasible.

“We’re talking multiple costs here, Lism. Employees, Garry’s salary, the costs of grain, the building itself. Well, we do have a lot of buildings we can give him. If we fund it purely off the door…can we fund it off the door?”

Raekea snorted.

“Have you seen how many people use it per day? The treasury’s so damn full that we need more space for the army’s contribution.”

The final voice came from Krshia, who sat there, chin in her paws.

“People will object.”

Everyone looked to her, and she shrugged.

“They will. [Bakers] will say we are stealing their business. They are not wrong, no? [Grocers] will complain. Citizens who do not need that bread will ask why the city is paying for what will not benefit them. We will fight over grain with [Merchants]. What do you say to that, Lism?”

She gave him a challenging look, and Lism went pacing around the room, speaking to himself.

“Tismel and Zalaiss can object. I’ll throw a table at them. But regular [Bakers]…that’s true. Damn. But if someone needs Garry bread, why shouldn’t he offer a cheap solution? He could make it worse bread?”

Garry sat up, outraged, and snapped back at Lism.

“My bread is a superior quality, excuse you. It is edible by Antinium! I have made many good breads. Breads out of beans, bread out of rice. Even bread out of Yellats.”

Lism stopped. The [Shopkeeper] had an idea at the same time as the [Councilmember].

“…Yellat bread? You can do that?”

The Antinium looked around as if it were obvious.

“If you take dried Yellats, yes. It is similar to how corn bread is made. Flour is flour. You can make it out of wheat or rice or beans or Yellats or most of anything you want. Not stone. Well…you can make stone bread, but it is not very tasty. Nor easy to poop.”

Lism leaned against the drawing board and thought. Yellat bread. Who made Yellat bread? It was cheap…dirt cheap, but it wouldn’t be tasteless, not with Garry.

“A city-run bakery. Garry’s Yellat Bread for a single Liscorian Mark. Come to Liscor and win a free house. We have to do it.”

The rest of the Council looked at him, with approval from Elirr, wariness from Raekea, concern from Alonna, or one of Krshia’s smiles that he could never quite read. But Lism felt it.

If I do this, then maybe Garry and I won’t hear of someone dying of hunger or getting kicked out of their apartment onto the street. It won’t solve it. It won’t ever solve it. But it’d make all that so much better.

And if he could go a month, a year, and hear less stories like that—then Ancestors, he could be even prouder of his city. Lism turned, and Alonna was picking up one of the laminated pieces of paper.

“It’s not a bad look after all. We’ll have to get your face off of it, Lism.”

“Put General S…put Zel Shivertail’s face on it.”

The [Guildmistress]’ head rose, and she smiled. Lism picked up a Liscorian Mark and stared at it.

“Sserys on one side, Zel on the other. That’s something to be proud of. You can take it to any city-run bakery and get a loaf of bread from it, fresh.”

He handed Garry the mark, and Garry handed Lism a cat since he didn’t actually have any bread on him. Lism patted the cat as it bit one of his claws, and Raekea murmured.

“What happens when you get entire towns coming here for the free bread, Lism?”

He turned as he stared at the rainy city beyond.

“If we run out of money, we’ll have to change how we’re doing things. But if Liscor doubles in population? It just means we’re the best damn city in Izril.”

He pointed a finger at Alonna, and she grinned. Garry began to rub all four of his hands together.

“This was like my idea, only more official. Bread. Bread for everyone. But I do have a question about the Liscorian Mark. I could just sell the bread for one copper coin, Councilmember Lism. Why do we need our own currency?”

Lism scratched at his neck spines awkwardly.

“I just felt like it was the thing to do. For the city of Liscor to be unique. All this gold coming in sort of devalues it, you know?”

He was no expert, but he had seen how much gold was being tossed around by Lyonette, and it had crystalized the thoughts in his head. Garry nodded, understanding.

“I can accept that. Gold is indeed worthless in The Wandering Inn…”

He hesitated.

“…Because everything is so cheap. Yes.”

Cheap? Garry must really have lost touch with the fiscal truths of this world because The Wandering Inn was priced quite competitively these days. Lism let it go.

“Yes, yes. But we’re allowed to make our own currencies. We’d make gold coins if we had any, but that’s not an option.”

Garry understood and nodded in relief as he wiped his brow with a cat.

“Yes, I understand. Although, if you want to mint gold coins, perhaps you could simply ask the Silent Queen? Or the Grand Queen, maybe. She is very peculiar about being asked first.”

“Hm? Why’s that?”

Lism was distracted with his vision of things to do, but the rest of the Council sat up a bit. Garry answered calmly.

“Oh, because the Silent Queen has unearthed a gold mine. The Grand Queen ordered her to make gold coins.”

He stopped as everyone drew in a breath.

“…That is not another secret is it? I bake bread. That is what I am good at. Bake bread, Garry, stop talking…excuse me.”

He got up and hurried out of the room. Lism blinked at Garry and didn’t think much of it with all the other news coming out, such as the huge fight with The Wandering Inn after a certain [Tax Collector] visited it. But the Garry Bakery was on the way.

As were the consequences. But what they forgot, from Lism to the rest, was that Garry was a student of Erin Solstice. Not the finest, not a warrior. But the [Innkeeper] had never said he was her worst disciple.

Garry was the consequences.

 

——

 

Some days, Garry got overwhelmed with all his fears about the future, his sadness, and his grief. It scared him terribly, like the rain falling from the sky.

Garry hated the rain. Belgrade was terrified of water, but Garry wasn’t exactly happy about it either. He had nightmares of waking up in his bed to hear water rushing—then a black wave of it would sweep into his rooms, and he’d drown in a vast sea.

Those were bad nightmares. But they were just nightmares, if that made sense.

They had nothing on true dreams where Garry was standing outside an inn with Antinium he recognized. Magnus, Knight, Bishop…watching them vanish and wondering what they would have done if only Garry had been in their place.

Bird. Belgrade. Garry. Pawn had been first, but he’d been special from the start.

There were only four of them left now.

Anand was dead. Some nights, Garry wondered who’d be next. Belgrade or Bird? Because it wouldn’t be Garry. Bird had already died, technically, and Belgrade was a [Strategist] in Liscor’s army. But no one killed Garry; no one had Garry on their lists, or so Garry imagined.

He was just a [Baker]. He felt terribly guilty as though he were leaving his two friends and comrades to die. He could have picked up a sword or turned his [Strategist] classes to war. But he didn’t. His baking was more important in its way. It would not stop armies, but it would feed an army’s worth of people. So Garry baked food and fed cats, like the ones following him in a wet line, meowing. And that was the lesson that none of Erin’s other guests and students and followers had ever learned.

Not Lyonette, who was very Erin-like in her use of the box, not Mrsha, not Pawn or anyone else.

Garry had mastered Erin’s greatest trick: seeming unimportant. And sometimes Garry thought even Erin had forgotten how to do it.

Lism was full of ideas. Garry remembered a time when everyone hated Lism. Well, he’d changed like this city. Now he wanted to let Garry open a bakery? For people to eat for free? It was an excellent idea. It was the idea Garry had had—but better. However, the [Baker] didn’t quite trust Lism wholesale.

Garry had bought bad flour filled with sawdust from nice [Traders]. Garry had paid for meat at the [Butchers] and gotten bad cuts or less meat than he deserved and been accused of being unable to count. So Garry did what he always did: he checked.

Lism said people were having trouble getting good food. This was in-line with Garry’s observations, but he headed straight to one of the main streets, down the city, that crossed from one gate to another, right through Shivertail Plaza. And he listened.

“Hamburger! Fresh hamburgers on sale! Four coppers a burger!”

Four coppers sounded expensive for a hamburger. Even with meat in it…Garry’s first stop was a street vendor. Liscor had them all over these days. Mostly, they did hamburgers, one of the Earth foods introduced here.

On a wet, cold day like today, standing under a cloth awning and chewing down on a hamburger was a tempting proposition. But four copper? It could be worse; prices were double or quadruple that in a big city.

Therefore, was Lism wrong? Garry waited in line as a pair of Gnolls in front of him bickered.

“I want a hamburger, Vok. You said you’d buy one for me, not share one.”

“But it’s eight coppers…”

“You got paid two gold coins!”

“A gold coin and a half. I’m a trainee. Two hamburgers is like…uh…one…fortieth of my salary! Sort of!”

Vok and Hickery, two Gnolls from Cellidel, were arguing as the burger maker took orders. Hickery sniffed as Vok glumly held up two fingers. She nudged him, and he hesitated and sniffed too.

“Wait a second—what kind of meat is this?”

The [Stall Cook] hesitated as the two Gnolls stared at the meat sizzling on the simple grill over a small brazier. Garry had been trying to work that out himself. The [Stall Cook] was a Drake, and his customers were Gnolls. The only two in line, in fact.

“Meat. What? It’s good.”

“Smells awful.”

“What? Your nose must be broken, Miss. Is that two or one? Give it a better sniff.”

The Drake wafted more fumes with a fan at them, and Garry saw a bunch of condiments; cheap chives, watery ketchup, no mayonnaise—in a little bin. Tight margins.

Hickery clarified.

“No, I meant it smells like offal. That’s not a proper burger! And you’re using rabbit meat.”

Every head swung towards the Drake, who made a loud, and suddenly worried, psshing sound.

“What? There’s beef in there! Somewhere. Listen, Miss, you find me a burger for three copper coins anywhere in this city and I’ll give one of these to you free. It’s tasty! And hy-ge-nic-ly prepared. Trust me, I went to a course with Chef Imani!”

“I’ll be the judge of that. One burger, please. If it’s bad, I’ll have to report you to the Watch for selling bad products. Trainee Guardsman Vok.”

Vok slapped four copper coins on the counter. Garry watched with a bunch of hawk-eyed potential customers as the Drake, sweating now, worked furiously on the burger. As far as Garry could tell, it was just a ground meat patty using the cheapest ingredients the Drake could get.

So—some beef, probably parts like liver that weren’t always in high demand, rabbit, venison—he was probably buying a bunch of scraps that a [Butcher] sold and having it processed or doing the grinding himself.

However, the rest of the food area was clean. And the grill looked good; the Drake had clearly seasoned the iron surface with a lot of spices, and the bread was cheap, but he’d again used a little trick; he fried the buns on the fat from the burgers to give them a bit of a crunch and hot crispness. True, he probably added more condiments than usual, but when Vok took his first suspicious bite, his face lit up.

“Okay, let me try. Vok! Let me try!”

Hickery took a huge bite of the burger, and the two began to fight over whether it was predominantly rabbit or what. The relieved burger seller beckoned Garry forwards, and the Antinium paid for two burgers as people got in line. A victory for small business and proper spicing.

“Hello, Guardsman Vok, Miss Hickery. Here is a burger, on me.”

Garry ate a third of his burger, then bent down and gave most of the meat to the meowing cats. Hickery and Vok turned, surprised, and Hickery’s eyes lit up.

“You’re Baker Garry, right? You gave me a pie to welcome my family to Liscor! Thanks for the burger!”

“I can pay for that.”

Vok looked uncomfortable, but Garry assured them his task was to investigate food quality today. When he offered to feed the two, the young Gnolls licked their lips and assured Garry their noses and tongues were at his disposal if he was paying.

Four coppers a burger was good pricing. Hot dogs were on sale for six—though you got a pound of condiments—and another burger-seller was moving his cart because he couldn’t beat the four-copper burger; his were five. Garry found the burgers good, even if the bread was weak, and the cats meowed happily about the meal.

A few flavor Skills, the right tricks, and you could make a living, as the stall owner clearly proved. It wasn’t the worst meal, even if it wasn’t exactly cheap, and Garry wasn’t sure it proved Lism’s point about prices until Hickery snapped her fingers.

“Wait, I figured out what he’s putting in it that makes it so cheap. You can’t even buy rabbit or cow parts that cheap from the [Hunters]. It’s skunk. I knew I smelled it.”

Garry and Vok turned to her. Then looked at the stall. It was so faint only a young Gnoll’s nose would detect it, but…Garry rubbed his chin.

“Hm. Let us investigate the meats, shall we? This way.”

He knew almost all the [Butchers] in the southwestern district and many more across the city.

 

——

 

The prices of meat were high during Liscor’s rainy season. Of course they were—but triple? Garry wasn’t a meat-baking expert, but he had noticed the prices were high. However, the Antinium bought in bulk, so seeing the prices at one [Butcher]’s made the discrepancy clear.

“Is it just because [Hunters] cannot work while it rains, Miss Pattelscale?”

The [Butcher] was making silkap with a special knife, slicing and re-slicing the meat before she ground it together in a bowl with the right spices.

“Nope. Meat prices are lower because all the fish just hit the market. It was five times as high as normal last month. Winter hit hard. If someone’s scavenging skunk kills, he must be buying via Esthelm or Celum. Probably got a deal with a young [Hunter]. Or he’s hunting himself. So long as he’s not selling intestines, it sounds fine.”

That was Garry’s conclusion, and Hickery licked her lips as she dipped some bread in some fresh silkap. She and Vok were sampling the finished product, and the Drake would have chased the two out of the shop, but she had time for Garry.

“I’m surprised you didn’t notice the prices. Then again, you buy entire deer off me, Baker Garry.”

Miss Pattelscale was a Drake, but she had a Gnoll husband and therefore catered to Gnolls with her silkap, which was very popular, and to Garry.

“I confess, Miss Pattelscale, I buy meat in bulk. For the Free Queen. So prices often escape me. May I have fifteen pounds of silkap, please?”

She grunted as Vok nearly spat out his mouthful and stared at Garry; he didn’t understand how much the Free Queen ate. Pattelscale rubbed at her shoulders.

“I’ll have it tomorrow if that’s alright. Lot of processing…”

“She quite enjoys your food, Miss Pattelscale. So, your opinion is that there is a food crisis?”

The Drake gave Garry a long nod.

“If it gets worse, I might come by and buy a pie or two off you. It’s bad in Liscor not because we’re always short on food, what with all the doors, but because you have desperate sorts coming via the door to buy what they can. Or they go to Invrisil, but since it’s cheaper to go to Liscor…I ran into some Drake from over three hundred miles away. Said his entire town saw their Prelon fields go up in smoke. Someone burnt it down, and they were rationing food so badly they needed to go to Pallass for food—then to Liscor since it’s cheaper.”

“Cellidel?”

“No…Amwral?”

Vok and Hickery looked at each other and shrugged. It must have been a small town. Garry nodded.

“I, too, have heard of the very tough winter and seen prices go up. I have met Humans who came to my stall because they were informed of the prices, despite their fear of Antinium.”

“Lot of arsons over the winter. Throw in people getting sick—you didn’t hear this from me, but entire villages have come down with the Ravening Glut. That’s where you eat and eat and it passes through you. In the middle of winter? Bad stuff.”

“We haven’t seen that many people coming here for food.”

Hickery’s voice was uncertain. Garry tilted his head and thought of the answer before Pattelscale gave it.

“Well, young Miss. If it’s really bad…they don’t show up. Small wonder the Order of Solstice and that Unseen Empire get treated like heroes. The Order of Haegris too.”

“And The Wandering Inn. I see, Miss Pattelscale. Thank you for the snack.”

Garry paid in advance for the silkap and led a somewhat subdued Vok and Hickery out of the shop. But he was seeing it now.

 

——

 

Wealth was flowing into Liscor, for all Lism’s grievances about housing and food specifically. It was not in those two sectors, true. Liscor had never been an agricultural breadbasket, though it did very well on fishing.

But the other things? Garry visited Scuttle Street next, which was down an eight-way intersection in the southeastern part of Liscor that had lively business of a non food-related kind.

“Shieldresin! Hardens in minutes! Got a leak? Shieldresin!”

“Does anyone have marglemaggot intestines? I’m buying the entire lot—”

“Watch out! Eyeballs!”

Of all the things you’d hear, well…seeing a barrel overturn and a bunch of eyeballs of various kinds rush towards you was an experience.

An adventuring experience, really. Which was what this street was; it had a lot of monster parts from the dungeon being sold after processing from the adventurer’s guild. Including monster eyeballs.

Garry watched as a small fortune in eyes washed down a sewer and a Human worker stared at the spinning orbs and instantly lost their job. Hickery gagged; the smell was of some kind of preservative.

No one wanted to help pick up the fallen eyeballs, and while the street was cleared, Garry saw most of the business was in practical monster parts.

Marglemaggots were the disgusting giant maggots that morphed into very dangerous predators; it had only value to some arguing [Alchemists] from Pallass and Invrisil. But the shieldresin in small bottles of liquid was getting a brisk trade.

“Once it leaves the liquid, it starts hardening fast, so spread it, get it off your hands, and don’t touch your eyes. It’s damn good stuff too. Works on armor and leaks. I’d build my house out of it.”

That might have been hyperbole, but the person selling the stuff was being watched approvingly by an older Drake.

“Got some Shield Spider armor coming up. Now we’re back with the shieldresin, we might as well sell it. When I was a hatchling, that’s what we sold. Light, better’n iron and leather—we’ll be making houses out of it soon enough.”

“So adventuring’s bringing in money?”

Vok stared at a spinning eyeball someone was gingerly picking up, and the Drake laughed.

“‘Course it is! Even brings in food, though you have to cook everything from the dungeon twice as long. We’re getting plenty of customers from all kinds of cities with the magic door. I’ve seen people changing where they’re bringing goods to market just to trade here, even with the door tax. We’d be swimming in gold and enough wheat and whatever we need if it wasn’t for…Celum.”

The Drake’s brow darkened, and he spat. Another shopkeeper kicked an eyeball, and it hit a passerby in the cheek. Garry leaned forwards as a screaming match began.

“Excuse me? Celum? I was unaware Celum was objectionable. Are we not inherently superior to Celum in every way?”

It had been going through a bad patch after the Bloodfeast Raider attack, enough to need donations and help. However, the Drake just gave Garry a long, meaningful look.

“It was. We had Celumites here, like that [Innkeeper], Timbor. Poor city—I was ready to buy anyone still living there a drink. Then came that Human Wall Lord, Xitegen, and—have you been to Celum recently? Save your pity.”

Garry looked at Vok. Hickery held up a dripping eyeball, then turned to them as Garry realized he needed to expand his field trip.

 

——

 

Celum had Golems. Hickery, Garry, and Vok stopped as a ten-foot-tall Golem made out of clay plodded past them, pulling a huge wagon. A Golem with a shovel on the back of it was flicking bricks off.

Onetwothree, onetwothree—a third Golem was catching them, inches before they hit the ground, and slotting them into place. These two were both humanoid; they had metal ‘faces’, like brass cylinders, and simple, tubular arms and joints. But they moved with alarming quickness, and glowing glass circles in their chests showed their Golem Hearts.

The construction team was building the road so fast that they cleared a dozen feet before Garry finished processing what was going on. It wasn’t just the group on the cart; they were following another Golem team, who were laying down the mortar for the bricks in neat rows. And they were preceding another Golem smashing up the cobblestone street so it could be repaved.

Each Golem was different. You had huge, plodding ones like Elementals, variants of Humans, made out of brass or metal or, the final Golem that passed by, a rolling Golem on a sphere.

It had no face, nothing that looked Human-like at all; its rolling sphere was probably the Golem Heart, four feet in every direction, atop which floated what Garry could only describe as the world’s most menacing streetlamp. A long, thin body waving metal arms—arms which shot flames that instantly dried the mortar and bricks, despite the rain.

“Golems on parade. Is it like this every day?”

Garry turned to a hamburger-seller, who gave the Antinium a superior look as he pressed his sizzling Corusdeer hamburger against the grill.

“Near to it, Mister Antinium. Lord Xitegen’s Golems repaved my street yesterday. They work day and night, save for the loud ones. That one there? That’s Solfeim. You go up to it if it’s not working, and you can get free fire.”

“What, you mean it’ll light a torch or something?”

Hickery was hiding behind Vok as the Golem passed, but everyone native to Celum seemed to be fine around the Golems. They walked past the big plodding one, which stopped to let anyone pass by, and Garry actually saw a boy dart up with a pewter bowl in his hands.

“Not just flame—like that. See, Miss?”

Solfeim stopped and delicately spat a tiny bit of molten flame into the bowl. The boy nodded, dashed off—then turned to bow. A voice shouted after him.

“Don’t disrupt the Golems at work, please! And keep clear of the Golems if possible!”

Vok, with his trainee Guardsman’s spear, considered himself a fine and proud member of Liscor’s Watch, which was one of the best Watches he’d seen in his two-city experience. The Gnoll defender of his city…looked up and stepped back as a woman wearing a Golem stomped down the street.

Controller Lectara piloted her war Golem suit as it magnified her voice, striding ahead with a patrol of armed Golems marching in lock-step behind her. Garry saw people turning and bowing deeply to her as she passed and spoke.

“Ah. This would be the city stealing Liscor’s thunder.”

The burger seller gave Garry a strange look as he flipped the Celum Burger onto a bit of wax paper and handed it to Garry.

“Whaddya mean, sir? You’ve got your magical innkeeper, don’t you. All that fancy fire and whatnot?”

“She’s on…vacation. We do have some magical flames, but it is not for sale.”

The man developed an incredibly smug smile.

“Well then—over here, you can get magical fire for free. And Golems who repair streets, till fields—they’re even digging sewers! Just you wait. In three month’s time, Liscor won’t have anything on Celum. Invrisil won’t!”

Hickery grabbed her burger and took a big bite out of it. She called at the man as they walked away.

“Except the magic door! You don’t have that!”

However, it was true that Celum…looked good. It wasn’t just the extreme infrastructure upgrade the Golems were bringing. It was in a three-copper burger.

“I think all the [Hunters] are selling their kills here. No wonder it’s more expensive in Liscor. Hey! They are stealing our goods! Can I buy some venison for my parents when I get back?”

Vok had realized the problem too; trade did come through to Liscor from other cities, but Celum had suddenly developed a hankering for everything from goods to food to raw materials. And if anyone came overland to Liscor via the north, they might as well sell what they could in Celum, right? Then come to Liscor for any better deals.

“I foresee strife between Liscor’s Council and Celum. Does Lord Xitegen rule Celum, or the [Mayor]?”

“Definitely Lord Xitegen. He’s got all the Golems.”

That was a prescient comment from Hickery. Garry checked the price of grain and got another ugly surprise.

“Oh. It is still higher than likable. Hmm.”

Celum wasn’t immune to the issue of food crisis during the winter. When Garry asked, he was directed to a [Grocer], who told Garry in no uncertain terms that the food supply issue wasn’t even a factor of mouths.

“Grain? If you want grain, you can get pretty much the same price in Invrisil, Celum, Liscor, Pallass, you name it. If it’s Yellats—they used to be cheap, but with everyone buying, prices are up. But grain, corn, and a few vegetables’ll stay consistent, if higher than anyone wants.”

“And why is that, please?”

For answer, a finger pointing straight back the way Garry had come.

“Riverfarm, obviously. Only, they can charge what they want.”

The [Baker] rubbed at his chin, thoughtful, as an idea occurred to him.

“Hmm.”

 

——

 

Garry was coming up with a mental map of the city-triangle that the [Door of Portals] allowed. You had Liscor, flush with monster parts and fish. Celum, backed by Golems and Lord Xitegen and northern goods, and Riverfarm, poorer in other areas for now, but rapidly expanding and rich in food, which everyone wanted.

However, it wasn’t really a triangle; there was Esthelm, which was smaller than the other cities, but produced a lot of valuable metals thanks to Pelt. And then there were Invrisil and Pallass, who were more like giants on their own deigning to interact with the triangle of cities.

The result, though, was that you got both the ability to rely on other cities for food, goods, and services, but didn’t get the effect of overabundance, if that made sense. If it had just been Riverfarm and Liscor, Garry imagined food prices would be wonderfully low all the time.

However, Riverfarm was feeding itself, all the lands it was connected to, and Invrisil, Celum, Esthelm, and Pallass’ appetites. It was a seller’s market if you had enough supply, which also raised prices.

Of course, that was just Garry’s basic understanding of the Lismnomics that had prompted the Councilmember to do all this in the beginning. Garry was not a genius like Anand had been. Poor, brave Anand.

He could not make bread out of nothing like Pawn. He was not brave like Belgrade. Garry was just the [Baker].

He said goodbye to Vok and Hickery, thanking them for their help, and walked back to his bakery, which was being manned by one of his assistants, in deep thought.

Pisca was a Flying Antinium and a somewhat intimidating assistant, but she would scuttle around the shop on all six legs and pull out the wrapped packages for Garry’s clients, no problem. She was also preparing something for later.

One of Garry’s new Skills, which he had told no one about except for Erin and Lyonette, was [Infused Dough] and a new type of bread—scaethen dough. It was…hard to make.

What you had to do to make scaethen dough was what you did for any dough: take yeast or baking soda, combine with flour, salt, water, and stir. Let the dough rise—and then you had a dough you baked.

That was the simple way Erin had once shown Garry how to make bread. And in the past, it had been just that for simple breads.

Then Garry had learned about different kinds of yeast that each [Baker] might have access to or sell you. Then he’d learned flour was not always wheat. You could have rice flour. Bean flour. Flour was, in fact, of variable qualities. You could add other elements to your dough like oil or eggs, and when you baked bread, were you going to braid your dough or let it rise with more yeast or infuse it with cheese or bugs or…?

Baking was a fine art. One Erin had little interest in, which was okay. Garry was the master of baking, and he had experimented with rye bread, pretzels, baguettes, and brioche; he had painted eggs onto bread before it turned golden brown in the oven and experimented with different kinds of salt for the best taste. Water too.

He had discovered scaethen dough. What was scaethen dough?

Well.

It looked red.

 

——

 

The first step in making scaethen dough was to get enough base ingredients to even make it. Pisca and Runel had probably been opening huge bags of beans in their kitchen in the Hive and smashing it up to make bean flour. Which was one component of scaethen dough.

It wasn’t so much a singular recipe, Garry had found, but a combination. It required at least four flour types, six optimally. You took bean flour, grain flour, rice flour, and he’d also been using Yellat flour for the first prototypes.

Each flour had a different way it liked to combine and optimal water quotient. But once you made it dough—you’d failed to make scaethen dough, you see?

So, what you had to do was combine all the flours in a spiral pattern. A beautiful one with subtly different-colored flours as Pisca was doing now on a huge baking board. Then the Flying Antinium carefully took a jug of water with her pincers and poured a strip along one spiral of flour, in a groove that let the water sit there. Swiftly, she took another jug and repeated the process.

The four-spiral scaethen dough of flour and water sat there, and then the Flying Antinium began running her feelers through the dough, mixing it together like Garry had shown her. Slowly, deliberately, in small circular motions so that the center combined together and the dough ball slowly rolled around, absorbing the other flours in equal parts.

Also very important. Garry watched approvingly as one of his clients stopped and stared at the process. If Pisca rolled the dough ball too much in any one flour, it would fail to work.

You knew it was working when the dough ceased to look like four different flours mixed together and took on a uniform, faintly red coloration. Just the teensiest bit red, right now. Barely noticeable. But it was done, and after a moment, Pisca scurried away from the dough to grab an order.

“Thank you, Miss Pisca.”

The Flying Antinium pushed Comrei Silverfang’s order over the counter and accepted a single copper coin. Then she produced a rolling pin and got to work.

Scaethen dough. The redder it was, the better it got. The little Gnoll girl watched as Pisca began rolling the dough, back and forth, flattening it out, rolling it together, smoothing it so thin it covered the board, peeling it back, tossing it up—

Knead the dough. Now, Garry was well aware that over-kneading dough was possible; it didn’t often happen, but you got too-chewy dough as a result. It got tough and flatter too. Scaethen dough didn’t.

It turned redder the longer you worked. And yes, progressively tougher. By the end of twenty minutes, when Comrei reluctantly had to hurry off, Pisca was noticeably putting more force into the dough, which had acquired a faintly red sheen. After an hour of kneading, it would be hard enough that Garry would have to lean on the biggest rolling pin he had to get it to move.

He, Pisca, and Runel would have to hang it from a hook, one long strand of scaethen dough, and beat it with a baseball bat to keep kneading it—and he had a feeling he hadn’t even gotten close to the end of how red it could be.

When Pisca noticed Garry, he waved a hand.

“May I take a piece, Pisca? Good work.”

She nodded rapidly, and he broke off a piece of the dough and squished it between his fingers.

“Hmm. Very good. You are working very hard, Pisca. Good job.”

She fanned her wings at him happily, adjusting her baker’s hat. Garry nibbled the dough; it was certainly tough. But when you baked it, all that toughness seemed to melt into the bread, and the loaf would rise, like the color of dawn itself, and emit a strange aroma that he had only smelled a few times before…

Magic. That was what Garry thought scaethen dough contained. Literal magic you were kneading into it. It was like dough infused with Sage’s Grass, only that was merely full of mana. Scaethen didn’t get old or stale; it just waited, soaking in your hard work, and it took days to get it properly red.

Garry had eight batches of scaethen dough sitting under cloths in his fridge room underground. The success rate on scaethen dough was less than one in thirty; Pisca had gotten lucky this time, but her movements were refined.

He had made scaethen bread twice. If you thought the dough was bad, making sure it didn’t burn and establishing the cooking temperatures was—

Ah. Right.

What did it do? Garry wasn’t actually that clear on that part, yet. He knew what he thought it did, but it was just a hypothesis. Conjecture. Anecdotal evidence based on—

Well, he put the dough back so Pisca could keep kneading it and went to check on Runel and Deferred Sustenance.

They’d eaten his first batch of bread. Runel because Garry had asked for a volunteer for the first bread. Deferred Sustenance had eaten the Free Queen’s portion.

 

——

 

Flying Antinium looked like, well, flies. They had six legs, scurried around in a quadrupedal fashion, like the Silent Antinium, and could leap incredibly high and had two sets of wings they used to glide.

They were based on Antinium from Rhir, both sets, and neither one was perfect, but Pisca and Runel had been gifted to the Free Queen by the Flying Queen, before the Flying Queen had betrayed the Free Antinium.

Garry didn’t hold anything the Flying Antinium had done against the two Workers. They had been ready to be dissected for the Queen’s experiences and, like him, had been nothing.

Pisca and Runel were female. Apparently, the Silent Antinium and Flying Antinium were made with different templates in mind. They scuttled around with the poofy baking hats on their heads, and Garry paid them and gave them time off, but they loved baking and eating food. In their spare time, they’d scuttle up to the surface and stare at the sky; they loved to hop around the Free Queen’s chambers when she wasn’t there.

Flying Antinium loved the outdoors and had more exposure to it in the Hivelands, but they couldn’t fly. They were, as the Flying Queen always remarked, incomplete. Not failures, because she hadn’t failed. Just imperfect.

Garry wondered what the Flying Queen would say if she could see Runel today. Flying Antinium had green wings and yellow to brown or black carapaces. More variation due to their more experimental design.

Runel’s wings were as emerald-green as Bird’s, and they fanned in the air with a surprisingly soft buzzing sound as she slowly hovered across the room. Twenty feet, thirty, forty…the Soldiers stared up at her, then snapped to attention as Garry walked past them. At the other side of the room, Runel clung to the wall, visibly exhausted, the bright-red tips of her legs digging into the dirt.

She could fly.

Not fast. Not far, but the scaethen dough hadn’t worn off after four days. The Free Queen herself made a note on a gigantic clipboard.

“Sixteen seconds hovering time. An improvement. Well done, Runel. Once we achieve a third ‘scaethen loaf’, we may either feed you or see if the same effect is replicated in Pisca. Perhaps we sh—oh look! He is doing it! Deferred Sustenance! Look!”

She lowered her clipboard as the dark room illuminated and something glowed. Like a creature in the deep ocean, a Rock Crab with a cute decorated shell clacked its pincers together…and produced a ball of light.

Instantly, Deferred Sustenance, the tiny Rock Crab, tried to eat the ball of light it had produced. The Free Queen picked up the Rock Crab, which looked like any other with reddish-brown shell, many little legs, two big claws, and long stalk-eyes.

Identical to the others.

…Except for the bright-yellow claws that it had developed after eating the scaethen bread. The Rock Crab made another bubble of light appear as the Free Queen patted it on the head.

“This is a splendid day. Once Runel achieves a hundred feet of independent flight, I will record an image of her flying. And send it to the Flying Queen so the traitorous xevkch may see and lament her wretchedness for the rest of her existence. Oh, hello, Garry.”

“Hello, Free Queen. Hello, Runel.”

She fanned her wings at him, tired. The [Assistant Cook] scuttled down the wall as Garry nodded to himself.

It was just a hypothesis, unproved, and he had little evidence to go on, but scaethen bread might give you magical powers. Anyways, he had bigger fish to fry.

 

——

 

The Free Queen’s lunch was the largest tuna caught on the market so far, filled with creamy potatoes and topped with a bunch of gravy. The Free Queen and Deferred Sustenance ate as Garry updated her on the bakery project.

“If you…mm…continue to level and provide me with your recipes, I shall allow it, Garry. Especially if it is financially paid for by the city.”

“I may need to hire more Workers, Free Queen.”

“Granted. The number?”

“I was thinking two hundred, all of whom must have a satisfactory salary and working conditions, my Queen. Four hundred optimally.”

“Grant—hmm. How many?”

She peered down at Garry suddenly, and the [Baker] took off his poofy hat.

“It would be helpful.”

“Two hundred? Paid? The Free Hive is supplying both the 7th Hive and Liscor’s 2nd Army with reinforcements and tending to its own affairs. Those armored beings are escalating attacks from the dungeon.”

“Think of the children, my Queen?”

“…Which ones? What species? The ones in the dungeon? Do we have another infestation?”

“Um…think of all the foods we could make with two hundred [Chefs], my Queen?”

The Free Queen thought about that. She hmmed loudly, then bent over.

“Are you sure you need two hundred?”

“Yes, my Queen. Four hundred.”

“…Is it the fondues? Melting all that cheese seems very difficult. Pawn often asks for more Painted Antinium, and I refuse him because I am in charge of the Free Antinium and his group is but one faction. He is no Klbkchhezeim.”

Garry nodded earnestly, recognizing the irritation in her voice.

“Yes, Free Queen. But I am not Pawn.”

“Hmm. This is a good point. I assume you will need a bigger kitchen too.”

Modestly, the [Baker] crinkled his hat in his hands.

“Only slightly bigger. Most of them will be—elsewhere.”

She was so busy sorting out the reorganization of funds and Antinium the Free Queen didn’t even ask where. Because he was Garry.

No one paid attention to Garry.

Shortly after that, Garry paid a visit to the Antinium farm.

 

——

 

In the Free Antinium’s Hive, there were many jobs. Enviable jobs like being a Painted Antinium, hated jobs like Furfur the Dreadful’s. Hard jobs like fighting monsters from the dungeon, even with all the traps and improvements.

All Antinium, though, would have told you there was only one job that earned you the most respect and took the most courage: farming.

Oh, it was easy, or so Antinium had thought. Go out each day, punch dirt, pour water over said dirt, eat free bugs.

Then they’d remembered the spring rains.

It took a special Antinium to get up each morning, cross a swaying bridge over the water to a large hill, and till the earth while the sky belched water at you. The bravest of Antinium.

Mind you, Farmer Twelve didn’t feel that accomplished some days. He had grown snowmelons in the winter, beets in the fall, and corn in the summer—but the spring was mostly a wash.

Literally—the rain was drowning all the seeds the Antinium kept planting in the soil no matter how much they tried to put up canopies to mitigate the rain, or even dredge more land up. It was still terrifying; he’d stare at the roiling water and their little hill where Liscor had allowed Antinium to begin their farming projects and imagine the wooden bridge snapping or a great water monster pulling an Antinium down.

But he was a farmer, and dead gods, he was going to farm.

The Level 16 [Crop Farmer] was determined about that. There was something special about eating things you’d made from the ground. He just didn’t quite understand what to do and had been standing around, staring at the drenched potatoes, which were a spring crop, fearing Klbkch might come back and cut his head off for being useless.

Then had come Garry.

“Hello, hello. I am mortally terrified for my life. Do you always cross the bridges to come here? Every day? I have a pie for all your hard work.”

He had six pies, in fact, which he cut up for the Antinium as they stood in the little shed they’d erected. A proper Acid Fly pie, crunchy and delicious.

“The red is from the beets you all grew. It is very delicious, if I do say so myself. May I ask who is in charge here?”

The Antinium [Farmers] looked up and shuffled, then made way for Farmer Twelve. He hesitated, but he was the highest-level [Farmer]—alive—and he stood there, nervous.

Funny thing. The Antinium farming project had begun last year as one of the Antinium outreach projects under Pawn and Klbkch. But Klbkch had insisted on overseeing the project, and then—

Well, no one was going to say he forgot about them. It was more like he’d gotten the farm working and then had other things to do. Then he’d left, and they’d, well, kept farming.

It was honest, hard work. They grew things; they brought them to the Hive. They ran out of space to farm? They tried to make the hill bigger. They combed the soil for bugs to eat, beat up Shield Spiders and pests…stared at the setting sun…

Aside from right now, they were as happy as any Antinium could be. But one look at their fields and Garry came to a simple conclusion.

“I do not believe you can farm anything in this wetness, can you?”

Farmer Twelve hung his head. It was true. He’d been hoping for a Skill; one of the Antinium had [Waterlogged Crops], but even then, he barely had a few sprouts. Not much levelling to do in the rain.

Maybe they’d be made to fish. That was a life, maybe. Or they’d be put into the Hive until the rains stopped. Farmer Twelve kicked at a clump of dirt, and Garry rubbed at his chin.

“You grew many beets last year. And corn. I remember that. Did anyone teach you how to grow crops, Farmer Twelve?”

Surprised, the Antinium shook his head. Klbkch had bought a book for them and inquired with some local farmers, but it had all been experimental. The [Baker] thoughtfully paced around the fields. There were over one hundred and sixty thousand square feet of hand-tilled land. They’d started with a plot barely four hundred feet by four hundred feet and built the hill out. Farmer Twelve was just a bit proud about that.

“And you did all this. Without tools. This must change.”

Farmer Twelve drooped. He knew the farm wasn’t optimal. He just hadn’t thought Garry would be the one to deliver the news. Farmer Twelve had wondered if he’d one day be met by Pawn to become a Painted Antinium, blessed and burdened, or called upon to be a Crusader or something else.

He was following Garry to the bridge, head bowed, when Garry turned and sensed Farmer Twelve’s resignation. To Farmer Twelve’s shock, Garry laughed, putting all four hands on the [Farmer]’s shoulders.

“I did not mean you should stop farming, Farmer Twelve. I meant…you shall come with me. We shall see if you can farm in the rain. And if not? I shall find another place for you to farm.”

…Say what now? Farmer Twelve stared at Garry. Then Garry took his hand—and did normal Garry things.

 

——

 

Garry knew Shassa Weaverweb, the [Teacher] and [Druid] of Oteslia. She knew him, of course, vaguely. He was Garry. Like a Kevin, but more edible. He interrupted her prepping for class tomorrow, and she was busy—

—A big bag of chocolate chip cookies made Shassa decide she wasn’t that busy. She stared at Farmer Twelve a bit warily as Garry explained his problem.

“Growing crops in the rain? Ancestors, that sounds miserable. No way you’d grow potatoes like this. I think if you had to grow anything…well, it’s got to be rice, right? Rice, pulses, sugarcane…”

Farmer Twelve’s antennae twitched. Garry scratched at his head.

“That is a fascinating reply, Druid Shassa. I confess, I do not know how all these things are grown. Could you grow rice in Liscor’s climate?”

She laughed as she ate another cookie.

“You’d have a better shot than potatoes, that’s for certain! Listen, I may be a [Druid], but I’m not plant-focused. I could ask someone from Oteslia what they thought. Liscor’s weather is certainly unusual.”

“If you would not mind, I would be very grateful, Miss Weaverweb. Do you like chocolate?”

“Love it. How do you even get any?”

Garry clasped his hands behind his back modestly.

“I have a supply. Growing more would be very nice…but I could also make you some Spider Succulents. That is chocolate with little legs. Do you like peanut butter?”

Her eyes lit up as Garry gave Farmer Twelve a significant look. Garry promised to check back in an hour as Shassa dashed off to the Mage’s Guild. Then he turned.

“While we wait, we might as well speak to other experts.”

There were more? Farmer Twelve stared at Garry, but all they had to do was splash down a few streets, reach The Wandering Inn—

And then—

 

——

 

Farmer Twelve was feeling the hot mug of soup warm his hands as he sipped from a straw. Greedily. He had a blanket on his shoulders, and the nice little witch had even gotten him a bunch of snacks. Farmer Twelve was afraid to eat them since Garry deserved half, but the Antinium had told him to eat them all.

And Garry was speaking to a woman who’d come through the door at his request.

“Dead gods, they were trying to grow potatoes in the rain? Yes, I can draw up plans for a rice paddy. Or at least look at that hill! No offense to Antinium, but I’d be terrified of falling off it and tumbling into the water.”

“That is a slight fear of theirs, Miss Strongheart. But what could be done?”

“[Raise Earth Wall]! I’ll just make a safety cordon around the hill. And if they make paddies of some kind, they might want to terrace them—hold on, I’m going to have to recall my visit to Oteslia and other places that do it.”

Viceria Strongheart, the [Green Mage], shook her head as she introduced herself to Farmer Twelve. She accepted a pumpernickel loaf from Garry as well as two huge, roasted fish.

“Wailant will love this; he’s pestering me for seafood nightly, and I can’t deal with him and the farm. Give me ten minutes to refresh my memory and I can walk over. We might as well have him take a look at those bridges too. I’m sure the Antinium pay attention since it’s their lives on the line, but Wailant does know everything that floats.”

—And then there was a [Green Mage] and Shassa, who had found a book on crops that grew in monsoon seasons! She found Garry as they were heading through Liscor, and he vanished as Viceria was reinforcing the Antinium’s hill.

When he came back, he had news.

“I hired Hawk to get me seeds from Oteslia. They should arrive in the next few days at most. He will get as many carrot foods as he wants when he returns. Farmer Twelve, I will appoint you to oversee these rice paddies, because rice is good and can be flour and Antinium can eat it. I wonder how many more hills we can convert.”

Thoughtfully, Garry studied the Floodplains, and Farmer Twelve stood there, mandibles open. Then, Garry glanced around and leaned over.

“Tonight, you will pick up as many Soldiers and Workers as you think could start another farm. I can only hire about three hundred and twenty [Farmers] at this moment…but I would like you to feed as much of Liscor as you can, soon.”

All of Liscor? There weren’t enough hills to…Farmer Twelve looked around desperately, wishing he had his own hat to crumple in his hands. But Garry just gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulders.

“Not here, Farmer Twelve. Just select the Workers.”

But where will we farm? Farmer Twelve gestured around, and Garry pointed towards the mountains looming over them and, Farmer Twelve realized, beyond.

“I believe more Armored Antinium will arrive to become Knights of the Solstice. And, of course, the Order of Solstice will return here for food and because it is Erin’s inn. The next time they come back, I will speak to some of the Armored Antinium. They are setting up a keep near the High Passes. So long as the [Knights] are there, and the 7th Hive, I think it will be very safe. But I will speak to Pawn about Painted Antinium going with you. Enough wheat, corn, beans, Yellats, for all of Liscor, Farmer Twelve. Do not worry; I shall help you. A loaf of bread for every citizen in Liscor and beyond.”

He said it so quietly no one heard it. No one saw it—except for Farmer Twelve and Runel and Pisca. The [Baker] patted Farmer Twelve on the shoulder. Then he handed Farmer Twelve a huge cooked chicken of all things. When Farmer Twelve tried to protest, Garry just pointed to the shed.

“Eat it. If you work for me, you will always eat good foods, Farmer Twelve. Do not worry about the cost or supplies. [My Pantry Overflows With My Deeds]. They are small. For now. I shall work harder.”

He looked at his first new employee, and Garry thought of his other Skill.

[Rested, Fed, Appreciated and Paid, My Workers Surpassed Mundanity]. But he said nothing of his plans; he just went off to try making another scaethen loaf.

And Farmer Twelve?

Farmer Twelve knew other Antinium. Pawn who worked miracles, the brave [Crusaders], wondrous Xrn, the almighty Free Queen, Bird, who was free…and Klbkch. He had never really feared Klbkch; the Slayer was just the Slayer who took lives and gave orders.

But Garry? Just for a moment, Farmer Twelve feared the soft-spoken [Baker], and it gave the [Farmer] a thrill in his chest. It was a good thing to have an Antinium that should be feared. Then Farmer Twelve hurried to get the roast chicken inside before it was completely wet.

The next day—he began to farm like he’d never farmed before.

 

——

 

Liscor, nay, Izril was continuing to change. So fast, too. So…

Unprecedentedly.

It was strange. No, it was wrong. The speed at which things were changing was all off. Yelroan knew this. And he reasoned that he was the only person in the entire world who could analyze and understand that something was dearly wrong.

He knew Moltin. Not personally, of course. It was like Bastion General Quiteil or Salii the Secretary: you heard of people in various sectors that no one paid attention to, but who were names and faces in your domains.

Like how the common citizen had never known nor heard of Xesci, much less given thought to her profession, but how the Sisters of Chell acknowledged she was important enough to listen to.

Anyways. The headline of today’s newspaper was:

 

Terlands Unveil the ‘Terland Tithel’. New Coin Currency? 

 

Yelroan read it three times as he poured cereal and milk into his lap. Then he furiously read the article.

“Lord Moltin of Stone. What? Personal Golem…what. He’s having sex with a Golem?”

Nanette spat out her own cereal and stared at Yelroan.

“What? It just said personal—”

“That’s how they denote such things. Wait, wait, nevermind. New coin currency? This is wrong. This is all—”

Yelroan’s head turned to the door leading to the Garden of Sanctuary, and he drummed his paws on the table. It was all moving way too fast. Way too fast.

You see, two nights ago, he’d gotten a warning from an old friend. One Pohgre Feltpurse; a Gnoll who’d made his way through the Merchant Guild’s hierarchy into a lesser posting at one of the Terland-run Guilds. Still a cushy job you could retire at.

The seventy-year-old Gnoll was very Human-like in his mannerisms, condescending, and yes, kind to younger Gnolls he took under his wing. It had been a brief letter delivered by City Runner, all very casual…warning Yelroan off gold. It was hard to read the letter any other way.

Then came today’s news, and it had Yelroan drumming his paws on the table. Why? Because it was wrong.

“Do you think it has anything to do with…the box, Yelroan?”

Nanette hissed at him after a glance around. Yelroan half shook his head, but uncertainly.

“It shouldn’t be. Moltin understands the economies of nations. He runs Terland’s finances. We have not, statistically, produced enough to affect House Terland, even if we funneled it all into their region.”

They were ludicrously wealthy. Yelroan knew how many gold coins were in circulation globally. This…the box had not produced enough to affect the economy enough to justify inventing a new currency.

And yet—his eyes strayed back to the Garden of Sanctuary. Factors other than pure math, the empirical evidence of his eyes, and his own personal instincts were driving a conclusion home. Yelroan’s paw-tapping on the table grew stronger as he searched around.

Lyonette was reading her own copy of the newspaper, looking as relaxed as could be. She only betrayed her feelings by making Mrsha hold her spoon in perfect form as if the girl were at the [King]’s table in a banquet. She glanced at Yelroan, and he scratched under one armpit for reply.

It couldn’t be…and yet Yelroan felt it. A new conclusion was drawing itself down his spine, prickling his fur, and he muttered to Nanette.

“There is no mathematical reason for any box to have this level of effect, Nanette.”

—And her reply made that uneasy prickling a hundred times worse.

“No mathematical reason. But Erin isn’t that good at math, is she? She’s a [Witch]. Everything she does has consequences.”

Yelroan stared at Nanette. Then he rose swiftly.

“I’m going to redo some calculations. If you see anything on the news…I just had a stupid math thought.”

He turned at the stairs as Nanette twisted in her chair. Yelroan spoke, loudly enough for Lyonette to hear.

“It’s been one month and two weeks since we began using the box. I’m charting a list of events to a timeline, and they’re appearing more frequently. The rate is increasing exponentially.”

She dropped her spoon as Yelroan hurried upstairs. While the Gnoll rechecked his equations—

 

——

 

“There, you see? Who was right?”

“Hmph.”

“Whoooo was right, Krshia, my dear?”

“Smugness doesn’t fit your face, Lism.”

“I think someone means ‘I’m sorry; you were right, Lism. And you’re very handsome. And I think some humility is called for.’”

“I will kick you.”

The threat from Krshia made Lism stop thrusting the newspaper in her face, but his ebullience didn’t fade. If anything, it just felt…so perfect, really. Didn’t she see it?

He hurried over to a drawer in their apartment and opened it. Stacks of neatly arranged, shiny Liscorian Marks were there in various denominations.

One, two, five, ten. That was all Lism had paid for thus far; the Council had been all over the sewers and the Garry Bakery initiative. But today, Lism just swept the notes into his bag of holding. They felt like they glittered in his claws.

“It’s a sign. We’re announcing the bakery project today. And the damn elections.”

If they had to do them, you might as well pair it with Lism’s greatest triumph. And Garry’s, of course. The Antinium had been busy. He’d volunteered to set the Antinium farmers to producing grain for the harvests, and Lism had added onto the project by suggesting Antinium raise cattle and other animals as well.

You couldn’t do wrong with a lot of eggs, right? The idea of Antinium ranching had been funny, and watching an Antinium carefully leading a line of ducks to their new home was oddly adorable.

But today was the day Lism pioneered his Liscorian Marks. And it was like magic; he walked out the door, and everyone was with him.

“Councilmember Lism—did you see the news? The Terlands are inventing their own currency? Can they do that? Is it even valuable?”

An old friend, Rocher, a fellow [Shopkeeper], caught Lism not a block from his home as Krshia pretended to meet up with him. Lism affected a nonchalant attitude.

“If they’re taking that instead of gold in the north, why not? Then again, I’m sure any savvy merchant would just use gold pieces as well as whatever nonsense the Humans get up to.”

The Drake [Thrift Shopkeeper] sucked at his teeth as he gave Krshia a surreptitious glance and then leaned over the counter.

“Funny you should say that. I’m not saying it’s wrong, mind you. Humans and their stupid ideas. But…it’s worth a shot. I mean, Liscor’s getting more important. What if we made our own money? Think it’d fly in the Council?”

Nothing gave Lism more satisfaction than rifling a stack of bills into his clawed hand. He pointed at a breath tonic, then handed something to Rocher.

“Rocher, old friend, I was ahead of you before you were born. Liscorian Mark. What do you think it’s worth?”

He gave Krshia a significant look, and she was too tired to even roll her eyes. Rocher snatched the bill and held it up.

“What the—Ancestors, it’s sharp, Lism! That’s the city on the back, and on the front…oh.”

He stared at the little image on the piece of laminated paper. It flexed quite well, but with shieldresin coating, it was waterproof—highly important—and glossy. A little ‘1’ was drawn in the corner, and Lism had asked for a few details so it’d be hard to copy.

But mostly…he’d thought for a long time about who should be on the bill. At first, he’d fancied the Councilmembers on rotation, or Olesm or selfish choices. He’d thought about that darn [Innkeeper], and Krshia had rolled her eyes when he had said the Gnoll should be on the coin. She thought he’d been joking when he meant it…

Well. The person he’d come up with just fit. She was baring her teeth in a grimaced smile. The [Scribes] had worked off a portrait Lism had found, and then they’d come up with a template after dozens of revisions.

He’d made them keep the spear. Lism blinked suddenly slightly watery eyes as Rocher stared at the tiny portrait of Tekshia Shivertail. The Drake held the bill up, then brushed at some water dripping down the awning overhead.

“Damn rain. That’s…a good person to put on it. Not who I’d have chosen, but it fits.”

“She’s just on the smaller denomination. Here. The ten-value mark has General Sserys and Zel Shivertail. The two-value’s just the city and Free Hive. And five is…”

The dungeon of Liscor on one side. And on the back, a building on a hill. Rocher peered at Lism, and the Drake spread the bills on the table.

“Feels wrong to have both our [Generals] on one bill. Maybe? Then again, it fits.”

“That’s what I said. Anyways, it was just landmarks and…what do you think? I’ve got tons. You want to, uh, maybe trade me for regular coin and see how it values on the open market?”

It was a little test of Lism’s. Confident as he was, Rocher was a great friend of his…and a notorious scaleflint. He’d eat his own tail before losing money, even for Lism. Rocher stared at the bills on the table and then, to Lism’s amazement and gratification, began to count out gold and silver coins onto the table.

“They’re not worth a gold coin each. Let’s call one a silver. I’ll throw in a tiny bit if you give me a hundred. No, two hundred. They’ll be worth something, maybe, even if they don’t take off. Are you going to just use them instead of gold coins?”

That had been the plan from the start, but Lism just leaned over the table.

“Oh, they’ll have a value. One mark will be worth a piece of bread from certain bakeries.”

“What? You’d better have a lot of bread.”

Lism glanced over his shoulder and saw a bunch of Antinium marching down the street, all of them wearing poofy white hats and carrying rolling pins.

“That’s the plan, Rocher. That’s the plan.”

 

——

 

After an hour of greeting people and getting to the Council, Lism was wet, almost out of bills he’d been handing out, and slightly…worried.

Everything was coming up Lism, that was true, but it was almost too good to be true. Even at the Council meeting, the first thing Alonna said was—

“Alright, Lism. Go ahead and gloat. But if you have those marks, I’ll take as many as you’ve got for my Guild. Everyone’s buzzing about the Terland Tithel.”

“As a matter of fact, I had hundreds…I’m going to have to get more printed.”

“We’ll need each [Scribe] to swear not to work for anyone other than the city.”

Elirr commented as he put out a paw. Lism handed him a few bills of each.

“Got a stack of tens?‘

“What? Sure…”

Elirr made the entire stack disappear into his belt pouch after splitting it with Raekea. Both Gnolls ignored Lism’s pointed stare.

“Well, well, well. Look who suddenly isn’t laughing at my hard work.”

Lism folded his arms. But the rest of the Council just muttered that a busted wand cast a spell once in a hundred times and other platitudes to that effect. In truth, Lism didn’t gloat because people were literally coming up to him and asking for Liscorian Marks—they were rapidly gaining a value in silver coins, far more than he’d thought they were frankly worth.

It was the Terland Tithel thing. Capitalize on excitement in the market. And…Lism realized…

Something else.

 

——

 

The entire Council went to Garry’s Bakery, the city-backed store, to see it open and customers warily line up and receive bread for a Liscorian Mark. You could either get a big loaf or a more customized tart or specialty pastry for a Liscorian Mark. For now, the selection was modest, and Lism expected the specialty breads to run out in favor of the Yellat-flour bread, but Garry was passing out bread like there was no tomorrow.

“Dead gods. And all this is based off of the stuff the Antinium grew?”

Rice bread, bean bread…Lism was shocked anyone was growing anything in the farms before he noticed Antinium in the crowd. Some were farmers with wet wicker hats. They had overalls on and—Lism realized—oddly bright brown hands.

A new kind of Antinium? He hadn’t heard about it, but there was something odd about several of their limbs. They were also eating bright-red pies that looked frankly delicious.

—At any rate, Lism got a rather substantial loaf of Yellat-bread and made a show of eating it with Krshia, Elirr, and the other members of the Council. It was heavier than regular bread, and he was afraid it’d sit bad in his stomach, but it tasted great, and if he’d had a bit of butter—

Needless to say, when people heard about the cheap prices, there was a line around the block, rain or not. The Council would have lingered to answer questions and talk about the election—they were going to need to run again, and win, which Lism wasn’t concerned about…mostly…

But then an [Aide] tugged on Lism’s arm and told him that someone was calling an emergency meeting in the city hall. When he asked who had the authority to do that, he was told—Watch Commander Venim.

 

——

 

The Watch Commander played with several of the new Liscorian Marks and seemed mightily tempted to pocket them, but refused Lism’s offer of some samples. He coughed as he passed around documents stamped with seals marking them confidential.

“This is coming in directly from Pallass, Councilmembers. Given our proximity to the Walled City, I think we’re receiving this report hours before other cities—it’s an act of friendship to get it.”

“Fine, I’ll bite, Watch Commander. What are the Walled Cities gracing us with this time?”

Raekea’s voice was somewhat caustic; Lism opened the packet and wondered how much paper the Walled Cities wasted on the ‘for your eyes only’ markings and all the classifications and security clearances littering the first few pages. It made things look special, but you ended up just skipping five pages in.

Venim cleared his throat uneasily.

“I just reviewed it before running it here—the short explanation is it’s Antinium-related. Not the Free Hive! But it makes the Liscorian Mark genuinely important. I think a news report might go out as early as tomorrow. The Antinium aren’t making an effort to hide—well, this.”

He slid something across the table with the packet. Lism felt his neck spines really start to stir.

Wow, it’s like everything in the world is trying to make the Liscorian Mark happen. Elirr sniffed the coin suspiciously, then felt at it.

“A forgery? It smells very real if it is, and heavy. Heavier than normal coins, maybe?”

Krshia lowered the document and shook her head.

“No. It’s heavy because it’s pure gold, Elirr. It’ll rub off on your paws. That’s an Antinium-made coin. They’re minting their own gold coins.”

Elirr fumbled the coin and riffled through the pages of the briefing as Lism picked it up. The coin had, of all things, a Drake face stamped on one side and a Gnoll on the other.

“Oh, that’s clever. Why, though?”

“They found a gold mine, or so the Walled Cities think. Now, it’s not an immediate risk to the economy or a security risk; it’s just…real gold. But the Walled Cities are obviously not happy about these Antinium-made coins on the market. For one thing, depending on how deep the gold mine is, they might be able to produce millions of coins per year. It won’t harm Liscor’s economy badly, but they want to ban these coins—”

Lism tossed the coin down.

“Good luck. If they’re purer than regular gold, you’ll get people filing down the faces and passing them off—if they even bother. Or…”

“You make your own currencies.”

Every head turned to Lism, and the Liscorian Mark shone next to the gold coin. Then the [Shopkeeper] sat back and wondered what the hell was happening. He had no evidence, no proof.

But his Lism-instincts were right on the money, because he blamed The Wandering Inn. He just didn’t know why.

 

——

 

Ding.

It was just a small sound, but like the unassuming tapping of a hammer hitting a piece of wood, Yelroan was associating it with a different feeling of late.

Not dread…okay, a bit of dread. A bit of fear. The [Mathematician] was reading the newspaper.

Today’s newspaper. The Terland Tithel had been yesterday. Today’s news? Well, he had the Liscorian Gazette open, and it featured a very happy Garry, news of the election, and the Liscorian Mark.

Yelroan had already gotten a Liscorian Mark and calculated that the value was currently sitting at a silver piece and five copper; people weren’t just using it to buy bread, and Garry’s bakery had actually started taking in copper coins until the value of the Liscorian Mark fell.

New currencies. Liscor and the Terlands were just the first. Today, the news seemed pointed at him. Yelroan read again as his ears twitched with each sound echoing around him.

Ding. 

Ding. 

Ding.

A gold coin was dropping into a pile in the [Garden of Sanctuary]. The [Box of Incontinuity] kept producing them. Everything was fine. It was real gold; it was still all authentic.

But today, Yelroan watched the gold falling from the box. Watched it—and the [Princess], who stood, back against one of the trees in the desert section of the garden, chest rising and falling.

Lyonette looked like someone had backed her against a wall. She was staring up at the box, panting for air, as if it were weighing on her. Each time that coin fell and the sound echoed, she flinched.

How things changed.

In the first days, she’d celebrated the gold coins.

After two weeks, she was used to them and had stopped rolling around on the hard piles of gold.

After a month and fifteen days, she had stared at the gold coins dropping, then stared at a newspaper.

After a month and two weeks, Lyonette held a Liscorian Mark in her hand and read another newspaper. The article was not what Yelroan had expected.

He’d expected to read—Antinium Hives Minting Gold! or something less congratulatory. Instead, today’s news made his stomach writhe. It reminded him of Nanette’s significant gaze and Mrsha’s slow nod. The children weren’t surprised. They were adjusting to the…rules faster than Yelroan.

The [Mathematician] knew economics. He understood gold circulation and inflation. He knew how the world should work given how much gold the [Box of Incontinuity] had produced. But he had a new set of rules in his mind that had nothing to do with…math.

This is what he read in today’s news:

 

Gold Mine Uncovered in New Lands! 

 

Ding. Lyonette flinched. Yelroan’s ears twitched. He stared up at the box. Another coin fell.

Ding.

She stared at the gold coins in her hands that the Merchant’s Guild was suddenly less keen on.

 

——

 

The next day, Yelroan stood in the same place. This time, Lyonette flinched from the sound. But they watched, transfixed. Neither one had taken the gold coin out of the box. They could have, but they were watching, now. Like people seeing an avalanche happen in slow motion.

Yelroan had to see.

Ding.

The [Princess] was cowering away from the box. Yelroan stood there, reading a newspaper.

“Wistram. Zeres. Salazsar…”

They were all coming out with currencies. The Merchant’s Guild was still accepting gold coins, but the value that Yelroan was deriving from them was…he looked at Lyonette, then the box. Another gold coin materialized and fell into the pile.

Ding.

Prices locally were in flux thanks to Garry’s Bakery. People were grabbing Liscorian Marks for the novelty of them. Visitors kept changing gold coins for the paper money.

Ding. 

It was so many small things. 

An [Heiress] died—not Selys—and they found a vault full of gold coins in her estate. More gold.

The Terlands were warning other nations and merchants to get off gold, and everyone was listening.

The Antinium-minted gold had prompted an emergency meeting by the Walled Cities to identify and ban Antinium-made gold coins from hitting their economies. The transcript had leaked onto Wistram News Network and been read out loud.

A group of [Counterfeiters] in southern Izril had been exposed, and hundreds of thousands of fakes were pouring in.

Ding.

Yelroan slowly wrote on a piece of paper as he walked up the pile of gold towards the box. No one stopped him; Peggy watched warily as Lyonette looked up. He stopped in front of the [Box of Incontinuity], opened it, and pulled the tiny gold coin out.

It would not fit back in when he tried, and he held it in his paw, the original, the regular Shameface that had caused all this. Because it had. Slowly, Yelroan stuck something to the side of the box. These were the rules he understood.

 

1. Nothing put in the box can be put in a second time. There is only one chance.

2. Whatever is put in the box is replicated, and it is real, genuine in every way; an identical clone.

3. (Theoretical) Whatever is put in the box…loses its value in some way. The effect increases with time.

 

It was the only thing that made sense to Yelroan. The acceleration of this pivot from gold, these literal events like goldmines being discovered—it chilled him to the core. This was not the world he belonged to, of numbers and logic.

This…was a [Witch]’s chaos. An [Innkeeper]’s cavalier attitude towards the pillars of the world. It was the stuff of the Winter Fae, The Wandering Inn.

It was a Level 50 Skill, and this box scared him. 

The sound stopped. Yelroan walked down the final gold pile, holding the coin in his hand. Lyonette stood at last, pale-faced, Dame Ushar helping her, and Yelroan met her eyes. He asked the truly scary question, then, and was relieved he had no answer.

“What would have happened…if we’d put a healing potion in there?”

No one responded, so Yelroan turned, then tossed the original coin into the pile. The Gnoll’s sunglasses flashed as he watched a single object sparkle in the light. It fell, tumbling through the air, glittering with all its value and worthlessness. A tiny consequence falling down from a box of infinite possibilities and danger.

Ding.

 

 

 

Author’s Note:

I wrote this chapter a week ago or something. Before I learned of my grandmother’s passing. I have not been that…productive since.

I did double the word count with edits, and I think, make the chapter far stronger than before. And I have tried to work on that story I referenced, Griefman. I may post what I have in lieu of a regular chapter next week. There is also the Innktober announcement, and it was huge last year. I hope people will check in on it or enjoy the art.

However, I am still…largely just tired and flat. Emotionally. I am not myself, but neither am I overcome with grief. I could write more, but I think anyone who has gone through this place before does not need to hear me say anything other than that I am going through the phases of grief.

And it is tiring, and I apologize if I deliver less, but I must find a way to process it. I will do my best to deliver on something for you, but I am going to have to rely on my abilities as a writer, rather than genuine emotion in parts.

—Nevertheless, do you understand what the box does? I was excited about it, and I still am, I think. Just tired. I will see you next week, and thank you for your understanding. Someday the rains will stop, even in Liscor. Until then—grow rice. Thanks for reading.

—pirateaba

 

 

Bunny Rags and NiraPeak by Brack!

DeviantArt: https://www.deviantart.com/shurkin/gallery/

Ko-Fi: https://ko-fi.com/brack

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Bunny Rags, Velan’s Treasure, Bunny Silveran, and more by Chalyon! (Seriously, is this for Easter or something?)

 

Mrsha Thief and Sadness by Spooky!

 

Omori Nanette by OnionLittle!

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Old One Card by LeChatDemon!

DeviantArt: https://www.deviantart.com/demoniccriminal

Stash with all the TWI related art: https://sta.sh/222s6jxhlt0

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/lechatdemon/

 

Agelum by Relia!

Tumblr: https://www.tumblr.com/reliaofdreams

 

Innocent Persua by BoboPlushie!

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Ko-Fi: https://ko-fi.com/boboplushie

 

Kissing Practice, Bird 2.0, and Antinium by Lime!

Bluesky: https://bsky.app/profile/arcticlime.bsky.social

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Youtube: https://youtube.com/@recapturedlime

 

Yvlon by Yura, commissioned by Robin!

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