Chương 163: Chapter 158 - Meeting Cont.

Alric lowered his cup.

"How much grain do you have in the two warehouses? I did ask you to bring the manifests." Alric asked, putting the cup down and looking across at Moreen. Moreen's fingers stopped moving around the rim of his own cup.

"Both warehouses?" Moreen asked, lifting one eyebrow while keeping the port close to his chest.

"Both," Alric said, giving him a small nod. Moreen didn't say anything to his clerk, he merely turned slightly in his chair and raising two fingers toward the doorway. His clerk had remained outside during the drinking and small talk. Vale had taught Alric enough to know that clerks were rarely there merely to carry paper. They remembered things, especially the things their employers later wished had been forgotten.

The clerk stepped forward, he carried a narrow leather case beneath one arm and a flat wooden writing board in the other hand. He stopped beside Moreen, opened the case and stepped back. It felt theatrical to Alric, but he'd noted before that Moreen always did that sort of thing. Moreen learned forward, removed two large books, bound in brown leather, he pushed them toward Alric and Vale before sitting back. Moreen gestured toward Alric.

Seren pulled a clean sheet in front of her, holding charcoal and listening intently. Vale shifted forward, resting one forearm on his knee while Alric opened the first manifest. The writing started to get uncomfortable as Alric looked at it. Lists of grain types, sacks, wagon loads, dates, purchase amounts. The figures were organised well enough, though several entries had been corrected in a different hand. Most of the stock, by a large margin, was the barley for the brewery.

The first warehouse was the smaller of the two. It held mixed stock from several failed suppliers, wheat, barley and a little rye. The second list was much longer. Alric ran one finger down the quantities.

"What is the quality?" Alric asked, looking up while keeping his finger against the page. Moreen did not pretend to think about the answer.

"The same grain I have been supplying to the brewery," Moreen said, turning one of his rings around his finger and not making eye contact.

"Dry enough and ordinary enough. No one will praise it in a poem, but it will make beer." Alric returned to the figures. The larger warehouse held enough grain to matter, but he wanted the exact amount before he committed himself. He folded the manifest closed.

"Set this aside for the moment," Alric said, placing both bundles carefully beside the tray.

"There is something else first." Moreen glanced at the manifests, then at Alric.

"I suspected there might be," Moreen said, rubbing his thumb slowly against the side of his ring. Alric looked toward the maid standing near the dining passage and nodded. She curtsied and disappeared through the rear passage. Moreen watched her leave, then took another small sip of port. Vale glanced at Alric. The look was brief, but it carried a question. Alric ignored it. The maid returned carrying two bronze goblets, albeit small ones, she placed the tray before Alric.

"Thank you," Alric said, inclining his head toward her as he put a goblet in front of Moreen, he took the other. The scent of Brandy wafted through the room. Moreen's expression changed slightly.

"This is the very young brandy the king tasted," Alric said, lifting his goblet for a small sip.

"Drink it slowly." Moreen's interest sharpened, it turned slightly predatory. He sniffed the goblet deeply, then did something Alric hadn't expected. He dipped two fingers in it and held them to the hearth light, finally he took a small sip. His shoulders shifted against the back of the chair. He lowered the goblet but said nothing. Alric waited. Moreen turned the goblet slowly, watching the spirit move along the sides. Then he took a second sip, smaller than the first. Vale glanced toward Alric again.

His face remained composed, but his fingers had stopped smoothing the fabric over his knee. Seren lowered her quill to the page without writing. Moreen sat quietly for several breaths.

"This," Moreen said at last lifting his fingers to the hearth light and studying it again, "is something I can work with." Alric felt some of the tightness leave his shoulders.

"It needs aging," Alric said, resting both hands against his knees.

"but it will improve."

"I believe it will," Moreen said, lowering the goblet and pressing his lips together as he considered the flavour.

"The fruit is there. The heat is also there, but time can settle that." He looked toward the port in his other hand, then back at the brandy. Alric nodded. Noble estates made their own wine, drank one another's wine and judged each other according to which vineyard had survived the latest fashion. Moreen had told him this once and tried to drown him in grapes not long after when Alric refused to listen. A merchant trying to sell wine into that system was offering water to people who were swimming.

Moreen swirled the brandy again.

"Brandy…" Moreen said, turning his wrist and watching the pale spirit climb the goblet.

"Nobles make it, but not every noble makes good brandy. Merchants move it everywhere, foreign courts buy it…"

"That sounds promising," Alric said, leaning back slightly.

"It sounds expensive," Vale said, bringing both hands together over one knee. Moreen smiled at him.

"It usually does when something is promising," Moreen said, touching the goblet briefly he didn't even turn to Vale when he said it, he lifted and took another sip. He tasted it again, then placed the goblet beside the port.

"We will need an assessor," Moreen said, folding both hands over his stomach.

"Not one of my people and not one of yours."

"We will choose the assessor," Vale said, sitting straighter and brushing his thumb along the edge of his cuff. Moreen's smile thinned.

"That is fine," Moreen said, tilting his head toward Vale.

"But if you choose an ordinary assessor, you are doing yourselves a disservice." Vale frowned before asking, "Who would you suggest?", his shoulders turned slightly.

"The head of the Merchants' Guild," Moreen said, lifting the brandy goblet again and studying its colour. Vale's frown deepened. Alric looked between them.

"The guild master assesses drinks?" Alric asked, turning his cup slowly between both hands.

"Rarely," Moreen said, rolling one shoulder as though the distinction mattered.

"He assesses things that may become important. Mostly goods that could embarrass the guild if they are valued badly."

"Can we ask him?" Alric asked, glancing toward Vale.

"We can ask," Vale said, tapping one finger against his knee.

"That does not mean he will agree."

"He will," Moreen said, raising the brandy goblet slightly.

"The king has already tasted it. You are a royal factor. There are rumours about you..." Moreen watched Alric a smile. Alric took a drink of port and gave a shrug.

"The guild master is considered nearly impossible to bribe," Moreen continued, rubbing one finger along the base of the goblet.

"It is inconvenient in most business, but useful when you need a number no one can challenge afterward." Vale remained quiet for a moment.

"I will look into it," Vale said finally, giving one slow nod while reaching for the papers beside Seren. Alric had not known the guild master personally assessed anything. He had imagined the head of the Merchants' Guild spending his time issuing rules, collecting fees and discovering complicated reasons why merchants required more rules and fees. Perhaps important merchants were allowed useful hobbies. If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

Moreen looked at Alric.

"How much do you intend to make?" Moreen asked, leaning slightly forward with the brandy held between both hands.

"I plan to distil through winter," Alric said, keeping his voice casual as he rested the cup against the chair arm. Vale turned his head. Moreen waited. Alric waited as well. The silence lasted long enough for Moreen to realise he was not receiving a number. Moreen leaned back, he did not press further, "I can offer sixty percent of the assessor's price," Moreen said, crossing one ankle over the other and settling more comfortably into the chair.

"No," Alric said, shaking his head and setting his cup down. Moreen's eyebrows rose slightly.

"That was quick," Moreen said, with a big smile.

"You'll want it exclusive," Alric said, leaning forward and resting both forearms on the table.

"If you want to be the only merchant selling it, sixty percent is not enough." Moreen looked at him for a moment. Then a bigger smile appeared. Vale noticed it too.

"Eighty percent," Vale said, straightening his purple sleeve with two fingers.

"At minimum, if the agreement is exclusive." Moreen's smile disappeared.

"Eighty?" Moreen asked, turning sharply toward Vale and tightening his hand around the brandy goblet.

"I must transport it, store it, sell it and pay duties whenever it crosses a line on grandpa's map."

"You pay duties on your trade," Vale said, holding his hands together on the table, he tilted his head and frowned at Moreen as he spoke, "We all have costs, you know this."

"I also pay tax," Moreen said, opening his free hand toward Vale.

"On profit," Vale said, inclining his head and smoothing one thumb across his knuckles.

"Unless the Merchants' Guild wants to claim tax on this, they may explain that position to a royal factor." Moreen looked at Alric. Alric resisted the urge to look behind himself for the royal factor Vale was referring to. The badge had mostly brought him letters and the uncomfortable knowledge that the king could turn an ordinary purchase into a proclamation. Hearing Vale use it as a commercial weapon felt unfair, he did however recognize this was a battlefield and Vale was winning.

Vale's mouth moved into the beginning of a smile.

"Seventy," Moreen said, leaning forward and placing the brandy goblet on the table.

"The assessor gives a price here, in the capital. I still must move it to where that price becomes coin you know." Alric looked at the pale brandy in the goblet. He could arrange his own carts. Then he could find merchants beyond the city, learn which lord charged what duty, hire agents, negotiate warehouse space, argue about leaking casks and discover how many different governments could tax one drink before anyone opened it. That was Moreen's war, and not one he wanted to touch. No. Absolutely not.

"Seventy-five," Alric said, sitting back and resting one hand against the front of his waistcoat. Moreen looked at Vale. Vale gave the smallest nod. Moreen looked back at Alric. His fingers tapped once against the arm of his chair.

"Seventy-five percent of the assessed price paid when I take possession," Moreen said, lifting one hand and holding up three fingers before closing them.

"My costs afterward are mine. Exclusive merchant rights."

"Agreed, but that's only on this year." Alric said, extending one hand across the space between them. Moreen leaned forward and clasped it. His grip was dry and firm.

"Done," Moreen said, giving Alric's hand one decisive shake before releasing it. Nearby Moreen's clerks begin scribbling furiously.

"I want Vale to draw up the contract," Alric said, settling back into his chair and adjusting one cuff. The scribbling stopped. Moreen glanced at Vale's purple coat.

"I had assumed he would," Moreen said, folding his hands again and turning back to Alric. Vale smiled with visible satisfaction.

"I will include the assessor and possession terms," Vale said, drawing out a blank page.

"And exclusivity," Moreen said, touching one finger to the table.

"In that language," Vale said, taking notes while raising his eyebrows at Moreen. Moreen nodded slowly. Alric suspected the exact language would become its own meeting, thankfully between clerks. He reached for the manifests again.

"The grain, again" Alric said, pulling the larger bundle toward himself and opening it across his knee. Moreen took up his port. He looked more relaxed now that the brandy had become a contract and there was money to look forward to. Alric found the total for the larger warehouse. Thirty-four wagon loads. The manifest listed sacks and weights in local measures, but he had prepared conversions before the meeting. He drew a folded sheet from inside his jacket. Vale watched the paper appear.

"You brought calculations?" Vale asked, pausing with the quill held above his page and tilting his head.

"I do prepare for things," Alric said, unfolding the sheet and smoothing it over the manifest. Vale looked at Seren. Seren continued writing. Alric followed the rows he had worked out earlier. The larger warehouse held roughly fifty-one tons of grain. It sounded like a lot until he divided it into work. The brewery needed about twenty tons to last through winter at the production he expected. Less he suspected, but twenty should keep the main batches moving without stripping the stores bare.

The distillery would be worse. Three runs each week, allowing for malting, poor grain, waste and the first months of learning, would consume around twenty-two tons before winter ended. Forty-two tons committed. Nine left. Nine tons sounded generous until something went wrong. Grain spoiled, malt failed, a fifteen thousand litre washback batch soured, beer demand rose. Maggie ran more often because Stromni had looked at the numbers and decided sleep was an obstacle to dwarven pride. It is enough but not comfortable.

"I want the contents of the larger warehouse," Alric said, tapping the final total with one finger and looking at Moreen. Moreen lowered his cup.

"All of it?" Moreen asked, leaning forward and narrowing his eyes at the open manifest.

"All thirty-four wagon loads, for winter yes." Alric said, turning the page so Moreen could see his mark beside the total. Moreen's gaze moved to Alric's calculations. He could not read the writing, but numbers had enough shared ancestry to make people suspicious in any world. Moreen said, rubbing one thumb over the rim of his cup.

"Six gold." Vale's quill stopped.

"The grain is ordinary," Vale said, looking up while keeping one hand against the page.

"You said so yourself."

"It is dry and already inside the city," Moreen said, lifting one shoulder and gesturing toward the manifest with his cup.

"Winter is coming. Grain will be dear."

"You bought it from collapsing guilds," Vale said, placing the quill down and folding both hands over the paper.

"You did not pay full price."

"I purchased their risk as well as their grain," Moreen said, turning one ring carefully around his finger.

"Risk? You have been using it as float for the brewery," Vale said, leaning slightly forward and resting his elbows against his knees.

"One buyer, the entire stock, no sorting and no waiting for smaller merchants to discover coin."

"Five gold," Alric said, placing his calculation sheet over the manifest. Moreen gave him a wounded look.

"Five?" Moreen asked, spreading both hands while keeping the cup balanced in one.

"I would make more feeding it to expensive horses."

"You should buy some horses then," Alric said, grinning, a big part of him was enjoying this, Moreen had once put him in his place over armour. Seren lowered her face toward her notes. Her shoulders moved once. Moreen stared at Alric. Vale's smile became more obvious.

"Five gold and five large silver," Moreen said, placing his cup on the table with care.

"That includes keeping it dry until your carts can take it."

"Five gold and two large silver," Vale said, lifting his quill again and holding it between both hands. Moreen looked at Vale, then at Alric. Alric nodded. Moreen drew a slow breath through his nose.

"Five gold and two silvers," Moreen said, holding out his hand while keeping his expression pained. Alric took his hand.

"Agreed," Alric said, shaking once before releasing him. Seren wrote down the price. Moreen's clerk copied it onto his board, his expression carefully neutral. Alric looked at the remaining manifest.

"What about better grain?" Alric asked, folding his calculation sheet and slipping it back inside his jacket. Moreen's face changed. It was not concern exactly. It was the expression of a man who knew the correct answer would be unpopular and had decided honesty was cheaper.

"You should start kissing noble arse," Moreen said, lifting his port and taking a calm drink. Alric frowned. Seren's quill stopped. Vale looked down at his paper, though the corners of his mouth had tightened.

"I have the factor badge," Alric said, touching one finger against his chest.

"I thought that meant I could buy grain."

"It does," Moreen said, lowering the cup and wiping one thumb along its rim.

"It means they must sell you fair grain at a fair price. Not that they must offer you the best grain."

"So how do I get that?" Alric asked, folding his arms across his waistcoat.

"Gifts," Moreen said, counting on his fingers while resting his elbow against the chair arm.

"Visits, compliments about estates you have never seen…" he paused before adding "Marriage."

"Urgh… I don't need grain badly enough for that, any other way?" Alric said, having gone stiff and sneering.

"You could import from the halflings," Moreen said with a grin, crossing his ankles and settling deeper into the chair.

"They grow it best I understand."

"That sounds better," Alric said, turning back toward Moreen, a grin had appeared.

"It is much more expensive," Moreen said, lifting one finger in warning.

"And by the time it reaches us, it will not be much better than what the nobles could sell you, ships are not kind to grain." Alric nodded slowly.

"If you need a particular halfling grain, import it," Moreen said, setting the brandy goblet down beside the port.

"If you only want better barley, speak to nobles, bring gifts, smile, pretend you like hunting."

"I don't hunt," Alric said, tightening his mouth as he looked at Moreen.

"Then ask questions," Moreen said, opening both hands with a small shrug.

"Men enjoy explaining hobbies more than they enjoy doing them." Alric considered that. It was probably true. Moreen finished the last of the port, then placed the cup back on the tray. His clerk gathered the copied terms and tied the manifests again, leaving the larger warehouse bundle with Seren.

"Was there anything else?" Moreen asked, to which Alric shook his head. Moreen nodded then he stood with a stretch. They all stood after that, pleasantries were exchanged. It was only afterward Moreen had left that Vale approached Alric. Vale held his notes in his hands, "How much brandy can you make over winter?" Vale asked, holding the sheet between two fingers while his other hand rested against his hip. Alric glanced toward the passage where Moreen had left.

"A lot," Alric said, rubbing the back of his neck and looking toward the hearth. Vale waited. Alric looked back at him. Vale continued waiting, his expression calm and his posture perfectly still. The purple coat made the effect less severe than it might otherwise have been, but only slightly.

"I will take you to the distillery tomorrow, I keep meaning to but keep forgetting." Alric said, lowering his hand and giving Vale a cautious nod. Vale nodded slowly. Then he looked toward Seren. She had returned to her chair and was studying her notes with great concentration. She turned to a fresh page even though the current one was only half full. Vale looked back at Alric.

"Distillery?" Alric smiled. It did not improve anything.