Chương 132: Chapter 128 - Noble Business

Alric had been hoping for breakfast when coming down into the common room. Instead, Seren had taken one of the larger tables and was sorting letters. Letters did not quite do it justice. She was sorting piles of letters. Piles were different. She hummed to herself as she did it. Seren did not look up as he entered. Alric paused near the bottom of the stairs and studied the table. The letters were not all the same, some were plain, some had coloured seals. A few had ribbon. One of those ribbons was even pink.

"Who did we upset?" he asked, he stood defensively in case he needed to run away. Seren placed one letter onto a pile with the smoothness of someone smugly putting the correct problem into the correct paper shredder.

"No one in particular. These are all marriage proposals." Seren said with a sweet smile, her expression shifting from the letters to Alric. Alric caught his breath before asking, "Again?", his body was still tense. Seren tilted her head slightly, her expression was calm, her smile serene.

"All of them?" Alric asked, his eyes drifting over the piles.

"No." Seren said shaking her head and considering him. He relaxed, his pose drifting into something less afraid.

"Those three piles." Seren said casually pointing to them. His body stiffened again. Seren chuckled a little. Seren returned to her sorting, grinning to herself.

"These are trade offers, these here are invitations. These are minor requests. These are attempts to make minor requests look like trade offers. These," she tapped the largest pile, "are proposals. Or family introductions that are pretending not to be proposals yet." Alric walked slowly toward the table, as if approaching the letters too quickly might encourage them.

"We have had proposals before, but not this many," he said, because this seemed like the sort of fact that might help.

"Not from nobles," Seren added with a smile, pointing to a letter with ribbon.

"Nobles?" Alric asked in alarm.

"Minor nobles. If it weren't for the queen, that one would have been very hard to turn down." Seren explained with a small sigh before the smile returned. Alric pulled out the chair opposite her, then thought better of sitting. Sitting suggested he was ready to discuss this… He remained standing, which allowed him to look prepared for movement, escape, or perhaps death by paper. Seren opened another letter, read three lines, and placed it with the proposals.

"That one too?" Alric watched it carefully.

"That one is from a family with two unmarried daughters, an orchard, and an interest in establishing ties with rising commercial houses." Seren said nodding smugly.

"That sounds like a trade offer." Alric frowned from the letter to Seren.

"It is, but the deal will depend on which daughter you marry." Seren explained with the same smile as before. Alric sneered at the letter like it just emitted a bad smell. The day had barely begun. He had hoped for tea, some eggs, potentially bacon, and perhaps one uninterrupted hour in which no one explained that yesterday had created a new branch of problems.

"Why now?" he asked gesturing to, all of it.

"I mean, I know why generally, but why this much now?" Seren set the letter opener down.

"You went to the palace," She looked at the ceiling thinking hard, her finger tapped the side of the letter opener as she chose her words.

"The king then visited your brewery. The road was closed. Royal carriages arrived. Clerks were seen entering. Guards too. The crown took a port pipe and gave you protection. To anyone not involved in the details, you have royal favour." Her gaze returned to Alric to see if he understood.

"I have crown oversight." He said defensively with a frown.

"To most families, that is the same thing." She explained patiently, just her left shoulder shrugged.

"It is not favour when someone takes ten percent." Alric said as his frown deepened.

"You know ten percent is obscenely low?" Seren asked, her eyebrows climbing. Alric opened his mouth to argue but said nothing. The argument had looked better before she said that. Seren picked up another letter and examined the seal.

"You are young. Unmarried. Wealthy enough to worry people. You have a temple-blessed brewery, royal attention, a new atelier forming, strong ties to merchants, ties to the adventurers' guild, and now crown guards coming." She reached for the letter opener, her gaze flicked between Alric and the opener.

"I also have no time, not enough barrels, not enough copper, and a gift for making officials sweat." Alric said with an annoyed tone. Seren smiled at that, "No one from the outside knows that." She got the opener under the seal and popped it.

"They should ask." Alric said straightening. He folded his arms and tried not to look too sulky. Seren could not stop it. For a moment, she looked down at the letters, put the opener and letter down, closed her eyes and started laughing. Alric stared at her with a pout at first. He'd never seen Seren laugh like that. He smiled. When she finally recovered, she wiped her eyes and took in the absurdity of the letters again.

"Other than very high-born nobles, you must be the most eligible bachelor in the nation." She couldn't stop herself giggling after that.

"Why is that funny? Am I so bad?" Alric asked, turning his head to the side, his brows knitted.

"No, no. Nothing like that. I respect your choice," she said gesturing to the piles.

"It's more this. How did we get to this?" Alric shook his head but, before he knew it, they were both laughing. Somewhere upstairs, a floorboard creaked. Outside, a cart rolled past the building, wheels rattling over stone.

"I should write a thank you letter to the queen," he said when he recovered. Seren scoffed, having to hold herself from giggling again.

"She did make this easier," Seren said reaching for the opener again. Alric looked at the piles again. They seemed less like letters now and more like small social traps that had been blunted by an even larger, superior social trap.

"So you just tell them the crown is reviewing my options?" Alric asked, not taking his eyes off the letter.

"Yes." Seren said happily, popping open another seal.

"And they accept that?" Alric asked frowning.

"They may dislike it. They will accept it." Seren said with a shrug, she glanced at the letter before it joined the proposal pile.

"Because it is the crown?" Alric asked tracking the letter carefully.

"Because arguing makes them look impatient, disrespectful, or both." Seren said nodding. Alric let out a slow breath.

"That is wonderful." Seren nodded again. Seren picked up another letter.

"You may, however, need to write one eventually for the port pipe."

"That feels like thanking someone for stealing half of my best wine." Alric's face turned flat. Alric unfolded one hand into one hand. Seren shrugged. The front door opened before he could decide whether the day was already lost or merely leaning that way. Vale entered with a folder under one arm and the expression of a man who had not brought good news, but had at least arranged it neatly. Alric looked up.

"Please tell me you are here about breakfast." Alric gave his best hopeful grin.

"I am not." Vale said with a flat expression, Alric let his turn to disappointment.

"Could you be? I don't mind if you come back in ten minutes with it." Alric asked brightening again. Vale closed the door behind him. His eyes moved over the table and the piles of letters. He took in the seals, the ribbons, Seren's sorting system, and Alric's posture.

"More proposals?" he asked as his brows began to climb pointing at the letters. Alric turned to Seren frowning.

"Does everyone know?"

"Yes," Seren said matter-of-factly.

"They will stop when I answer them." Vale set the folder down on the end of the table.

"One of the higher royal clerks is coming tomorrow." Alric stared at him for a long moment.

"Higher than the one who snapped his charcoal?"

"Much, yes. It's to discuss the crown oversight." Vale said nodding solemnly. The room became very still. The inn, however, did not. It was just too big. Wood creaked. Someone moved in the back. A cart passed outside. Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere. The king had chosen lunch because breakfast was too early for heavy discussion and dinner involved too much alcohol. Lunch sat in the safer middle.

It allowed reports to be discussed without seeming like a council session, and it allowed wine to appear on the table without anyone pretending it was there for the roast. The private dining room was small by palace standards, which meant it could have seated a dozen people in comfort and twenty in a pinch. The king sat at the head of the table with the queen to his right. Lord Calvern sat opposite her, his food arranged but largely ignored.

Fenril sat farther down with the expression of a man who had learned that meals near the king often became less about eating and more about discovering how much trouble a sentence could cause. Two senior clerks stood near the wall. Neither ate. Clerks, the king believed, could endure hunger if paper was nearby. The queen cut into a piece of roast chicken, "How did ze visit go?" The king took a moment before answering.

Not because he did not know, but because the answer was ridiculous and deserved to be placed properly.

"The brewer seems to be our ally." He concluded, using his fork with a small piece of carrot on it to emphasize his point. The queen's knife paused. Calvern looked up with a smile. Fenril looked askance.

"Ally?" The queen's eyebrows rose by a degree. On another woman, it might have been a small expression. On the queen, it was almost an accusation.

"You visited ze brewery?" she said, continuing to cut into her chicken.

"And returned with an ally? Zis promises to be strange report."

"It was a very strange brewery." The king said looking upward, he brought his hands together in front of him, still holding the fork and carrot. Calvern's mouth twitched. Fenril glanced between them, trying to decide whether this was humour, policy, or the dangerous mixture of both that tended to occur around the king. The king lifted his cup with the non-carrot hand, then changed his mind and set it down.

"He offered me brandy." Fenril relaxed slightly, as if the world had found a simple shape again.

"Hospitality, then?"

"No, not quite," the king said, his gaze changing from the ceiling to Fenril. Fenril stiffened up, his fork having just stabbed a carrot of his own.

"It was very, very good brandy," the king explained tapping his fork against the plate. Calvern made a low sound in his throat.

"I concur, very good." He added nodding to the king's assessment. Fenril looked at Calvern in confusion.

"I do not understand? He did not swear an oath? Or raise a banner?"

"That is why you are here," the king said using the carrot fork to point to him directly. Fenril accepted this with the weary grace of a man who had decided not to ask whether he had been insulted. The king leaned back, putting the fork down, he shifted backward into the chair and chose his words carefully.

"The brandy was young. Far too young, if I am judging by the bottles I have been given over the years. But it was clear, very bright. Clean with strong flavour. It had no business being as good as it was."

"You are not usually fond of ze brandy," the queen said watching the king carefully, she had put her utensils down.

"No. Which is why I noticed. I have no loyalty to the drink. I have received halfling brandy twice as a gift. Very old and very fine. The sort of bottle a man sends when he wants to remind you his grandfather had patience and land. The brewer's was not that. Not yet." He paused.

"But given time, I think it will be. It will put the rest of the nation's brandy to shame." Calvern set his fork down and said "It will cause trouble." Fenril frowned after swallowing he finally asked.

"Because he makes it well?" The queen smiled faintly.

"And here I thought ze beer was the problem."

"The beer is a city problem," the king said lifting a finger and considering the point.

"The brandy is a noble problem." He added glancing at Fenril. Fenril looked from one to the other.

"I must be missing something. He did not swear an oath. He did not offer service. He poured Your Majesty a drink."

"He showed me a weapon we didn't know we had," the king explained slowly, sitting forward again to resume his meal. Fenril went still. The queen's smile grew by the smallest amount. Calvern nodded and added for Fenril slowly.

"Distillation is noble business." Fenril frowned at him and tilted his head.

"But commoners distil?"

"Commoners distil badly, quietly, locally, or for smugglers and con men," Calvern explained, bringing his hands together fingertips to fingertips.

"Prestige distillation is different. Brandy worth gifting, storing, trading, taxing, and naming after dead relatives is not merely drink. It is land. It is orchards. Cellars. Coopers. Assessors. Trade routes. Reputation. Time. Families build themselves around time when they have enough money to pretend patience is a virtue." He watched Fenril's expression carefully through out. The king laughed softly. Calvern continued lifting fingers one by one as he made his points.

"A noble house can hold barrels for years. They can afford spoilage. They can afford stewards who taste young spirit and decide whether it will become valuable or regret. They can afford to send a bottle as a gift and have the gift understood as history." Fenril looked down at his plate as if expecting to find the answer there.

"And the brewer?" Fenril asked after a long silence.

"The brewer is a commoner in a city cellar," Calvern said gesturing vaguely to the city.

"He should not be making anything that competes, but he is, and he showed the king." Fenril sat back considering the point.

"That seems either brave or stupid."

"It may be both," the queen said. The king nodded, he gestured dramatically with his fork again as he listed points.

"It does not matter which. By showing it to me first, he changed the order of events. If a noble family had discovered it, the story would become theirs. Unsafe production. Improper licensing. Fraud. Tax evasion. Theft of method. Insult to established houses. There are many respectable coats for greed." Calvern lifted his cup slightly in agreement.

"Now," the king continued, "the crown has tasted it. The crown knows its quality. The crown is placing guards at the brewery. If someone moves against him too openly, they are not merely correcting a rude brewer. They are interfering with something I have decided to take an interest in." Fenril's expression cleared slowly, "So he aligned himself with the crown by accident?" he asked lifting his head slowly.

"I suspect so," the king said with a smug grin and popped the carrot in his mouth.

"Does he know that?" Fenril aske considering the kings point. The king thought as he chewed. Alric standing in the brewery cellar, awkwardly trying to pour brandy while a committee watched to ensure there was no poison.

"No," he said confidently with finality. The queen made a quiet sound of amusement.

"That doez seem to be 'is pattern."

"He moves like a herd of ironbacks when they charge," Calvern explained nodding to the queen's point.

"He may not mean to hit anyone, but it's best to just get out the way and see where he stops." The king appreciated that enough to smile. He raised his cup to Calvern who smiled graciously. Fenril leaned forward again, now cautious rather than confused.

"If this brandy is so good, how many families are affected?"

"Many. Houses with orchards, vineyards, families who have licensed stills, or established cellars." Calvern paused to think further staring at the ceiling with a frown.

"Indirectly, coopers, merchant factors, river traders, assessors, you name it." Fenril's face suggested that several relatives had just become less impressive in hindsight. The king took a bite of chicken and considered the matter while chewing. It was useful to eat while others worried. It reminded them that panic was best shared.

"What I do not know," the king said eventually, finding a new carrot to gesture with, satisfied he had one, he raised it to emphasize his point, "is whether the quality can be repeated."

"That is the important question," Calvern said nodding solemnly.

"A single good batch is irritating."

"If his brewery is anything to go by, he will repeat it. I set his tax low but eventually, if it gets really good... The tax and trade on this…" the king said, trailing off on the last still holding the carrot. Everyone at the table understood that sentence without him needing to finish it. Fenril took a drink. The king looked toward the second clerk.

"Who in the city can assess young brandy properly?" The clerk hesitated. The king frowned aggressively. He disliked hesitation from clerks. It usually meant the information existed but was socially inconvenient.

"Speak." He said not properly irritated.

"Several merchants employ drink stewards, Your Majesty. There are assessors, cellar men, factors who judge wine stock but…" the clerk began picking his words carefully.

"Properly," the king repeated with a frown. The clerk looked down.

"I don't think anyone could assess royal gifts like this, Your Majesty. The merchant guild master perhaps?" Calvern nodded pointing at the clerk.

"That is to be expected. A man who can tell bad from good is useful. A man who can taste what good may become after five years is rarer. Most of those men are already owned by someone." The king tapped one finger against the table.

"So the brewer has made something we cannot yet measure, in a category controlled by people who will not want it measured fairly."

"Zat is a neat summary," the queen said tilting her head to think about it, she pursed her lips. Fenril looked at Calvern.

"Could the crown not bring in halfling assessors?" He asked the question slowly, wondering how many bad questions he was allowed a day. Calvern considered him seriously.

"Expensive. Slow. Politically painful."

"Because asking halflings to judge our brandy implies we cannot judge our brandy," the king added, simplifying it for Fenril.

"Because asking ze halflings to judge ze commoner's brandy implies we think he may be better than us," the queen added further. Fenril closed his mouth that he hadn't realised was open. The king smiled into his goblet and glanced at Fenril.

"You see? A very strange alliance." The queen's eyes shifted to the king.

"You like him."

"I do." The king said with a grin and shrugged with his goblet.

"Zat worries me." The queen said holding her fork straight up.

"It should. He scares me too." The king nodded after taking a sip. Calvern's gaze sharpened.

"Still?"

"More after the visit. You were there." The king set his goblet down and considered Calvern.

"The brewery is larger than the reports made it sound."

"The reports were alarming." Calven gestured upward with his hands.

"Yes. Reality has more smell." The king noted, sniffing faintly. The queen laughed softly. The king continued.

"The man thinks in production. Not court or station or permission or any of that nonsense. Production. If he sees a shortage, he builds around it. If he has too much wine, he makes a new drink called port, which is also excellent and new I might add. If bridge guards complain that working men look like working men, he makes me laugh in front of my own guard captain." Fenril, because instinct had not yet failed him enough times to become wisdom, asked, "Is such a man easier to use or harder?"

The queen looked at him as though the question had improved. The king answered slowly glancing to the side, considering the point.

"Harder to use. Easier to aim, perhaps. If we are careful." Calvern nodded considering the point.

"His interests are simple?"

"No," the king said shaking his head.

"His stated interests are simple. Beer. Staff. Production. Safety. Practical magic. The consequences are not simple at all."

"Then crown oversight is the correct move," Calvern said sitting back.

"It iz ze only move that does not begin with a mistake," the queen said with a grin. The king looked at her with a smug expression.

"You think so?"

"I think if you leave him alone, nobles vill circle him. If you seize too much, the city resents you. If you tax the beer, the taverns resent you. If you tax nothing, ze treasury resents you. If you let the guilds act, the guilds will make it worse, try take it over, and then spread it. Also, I think this makes you more popular to the people," she said with a smile and a small look of pride. The king nodded and looked distinctly smug.

"I hadn't thought it quite that far." The queen tilted her head.

"What did you think of his outfit?" The table paused. Fenril looked lost. Calvern, to his credit, did not. He grinned. The queen dabbed at the corner of her mouth with a cloth. Her expression had shifted. Not much, but enough. Interest, not political in the same way as brandy, but no less real.

"It did not follow any current court fashion I know," Calvern began tapping the table with his finger.

"But the lines were clean. The shoulders sat well. It was restrained but tasteful. Practical, but not crude. Formal, but not ornamental. It gave him presence without pretending he was noble." The king pointed at him and grinned widely.

"You also want one." Calvern laughed guiltily. Fenril looked personally abandoned.

"We are discussing tailoring now?"

"Yes," the queen said not even sparing him a glance.

"After brandy?" Fenril asked taking the table's reactions in.

"Especially after brandy." Calvern said recovering, he too was wearing a smug look. The king still looked amused.

"You do not think it matters?" Fenril hesitated, his gaze drifting between them.

"I think it matters less than noble families becoming angry over commoner brandy."

"That is why you are not allowed to dress ze court," the queen said now glancing at him. Calvern coughed into his hand. Fenril wisely inspected his plate. The queen set her cloth aside.

"I'm getting it first though." The king glanced at her in alarm.

"Surely it is a man's outfit?"

"Ze tailor," she said, rolling her eyes. Calvern looked at her with a mock pout.

"Your Majesty."

"No," the queen said waving a hand at his pout as if it may reach her.

"You may both wait." The king laughed but put up no real fight.

"I found him."

"You found the brewer. The brewer was wearing the work. Zat makes this a matter of interpretation, and I am better at interpretation than you are." The queen said glancing between the king and Calvern with a smug expression. Calvern's expression suggested he had been defeated before he understood the rules. The king leaned back, smiling.

"I want ze mind that made that outfit to make it think about gowns." Her gaze went upward, staring at the ceiling considering it. Fenril looked up despite himself. The queen continued, calm and precise.

"The outfit was unusual, but it solved several problems court clothing pretends not to have. Shape without stiffness. Formality without excess. Movement without looking careless. If his tailor thinks that way, I may be able to make something new from it." The king's smile deepened.

"A fashion campaign born from a brewer?"

"Stranger things have entered court fashion." The queen said giving him a side long look.

"Name one." The king asked suspiciously.

"Remember those huge hats with fruit?" The queen retorted immediately. Calvern looked down very quickly. The king laughed. The queen only grinned.

"We summon the tailor," she said with a smirk, "discreetly." Later that night, Lord Fenril was up writing a letter by lantern light, which was unusual for him. It began with "Dearest Aunt."