"Walk with me, Jan," I command.
We enter the private office. I close the door and lock it.
"I am leaving for Varpua," I state. "I will be gone for ten days."
Jan looks instantly terrified. "Ten days? But... the nobility. The daily reconciliations. The... King."
"Precisely. The King."
I hand him a document. It is sealed with my personal wax, a mixture of red wax and iron filings.
"These are your Standing Orders," I tell him. "While I am gone, you are not just the Manager. You are the Steward of the Fey Interests."
Jan holds the paper as if it were a loaded crossbow.
"If the King asks for money," I begin, reciting the list.
"I... I tell him the vault is time-locked?" Jan suggests.
"No. You give it to him," I correct.
Jan blinks. "I do?"
"Up to a limit of five hundred gold crowns," I specify. "If he wants to buy wine? Fine. If he wants to buy a new horse? Fine. Let him have his allowance. It keeps him docile."
I lean in close.
"But. If he tries to access the 'Strategic Reserves', the funds we have set aside for the grain, the iron, or the harbor..."
"Yes?"
"You will invoke Clause 11."
"Clause 11?" Jan scans the document. He reads it. His face drains of color. "Total Asset Freeze due to Irregular Activity?"
"You will tell him that due to a 'clerical error' in the Royal ledger, all large withdrawals are suspended until the Senior Partner, namely me, returns to override the security seal."
"He will scream," Jan whispers. "He will threaten to execute me."
"He won't," I assure him. "Because you will point out that Clause 11 is automatic Fey magic, and if he tries to force the vault open, the gold will vanish. It will be replaced with angry badgers. It's one of Ellisar's standard theft prevention measures."
"Will it?" Jan asks.
"Do I look like I am joking?" I reply.
I am not joking. Well, mostly not. It will be replaced with something angry. But the effect is the same. It provide a nasty surprise for anyone trying to open the vault. This is not Oskar's bank. Nothing inside these walls belongs to him, aside from what's on account for the taxes and tariffs that have been collected for the Centis crown. The bulk of the funds here are mine or our depositors.
"Jan," I say, my voice dropping to a serious, heavy tone. "Listen to me closely. The King is a man standing on a frozen lake that is cracking. He thinks the cracking sound is applause. It is not our job to save him from the water. It is our job to make sure we own the towels when he falls in."
Jan swallows hard. He adjusts his glasses. He looks at the seal on the orders.
"He is... that bad?" Jan asks.
"He is worse," I say. "He has had every chance. I gave him a road, and he gossiped about the pavement. I gave him a dinner service complete with silverware, and he complained. I dressed his Royal Guards, and he threatened to have Kenric arrested and to strip him of his title. This is not Oskar's bank. It is Ellisar's bank, and Oskar tries to treat it like it's his personal magic coin purse."
"What if he demands funds?" Jan asks.
"We will loan money to the crown," I reply, "but as there are almost no deposits on hand for Oskar, I will require collateral."
I hand Jan a set of documents, one for each of his hunting lodges, his beach lodge, and his summer pavilion. The same summer pavilion where he tried to trap me. Is it petty to take his toys? Yes, but no less petty than him trying to trap me in one of them. I might be willing to lease them back to him. For a price.
"These are filled out already. All he has to do is sign them. If he does that, then he gets his coin. They have maximum amounts, depending on what he asks for. Give him the lowest one that covers the amount. Make sure to tell him that there are terms and that the interest rate is forty percent."
Stolen novel; please report.
Jan's eyes go wide at the astronomical interest rate. "Forty percent?"
"It is a 'Distressed Asset' transaction. I have very little faith that he will repay the loan. He has no deposits with us to speak of. Frankly, he has no deposits with any other bank, either. He will be hoping that his taxes cover it," I explain.
Jan eyes me and shakes his head.
"Keep a strong box under the counter. Keep just enough gold in it to cover these, and don't open the vault for Oskar."
I hand Jan a small figurine. It's a cat, licking its paw.
"If you really need me and Haldor can't handle it, smash this. It will call me and I will come," I explain.
I check my gloves.
"He has been weighed, Jan. He has been measured. And he has been found severely, terminally lacking. Do not let him touch the grain money. Do not let him touch the iron money. Do not let him touch the port money. If he wants to destroy himself, let him use his own pocket change."
An hour later, Kenric and I are in the carriage. The wheels roll smoothly over the marble paving that I paid for.
As we pass the palace gates, I look up. Oskar is there, on the balcony, waving. He is holding a goblet. He looks delighted. He looks like a boy whose parents have just left for the weekend.
"He looks happy," Kenric notes.
"Let him enjoy it," I say, leaning back against the squabs and opening a book. "It is the last happy week he is going to have for a very long time."
"You sound certain."
"I am a banker, Kenric," I reply, turning the page of my book. "I don't predict the future. I just calculate the odds. And Oskar's credit score just hit zero."
The road to Varpua is hard-packed with snow, but the carriage is warm, thanks to the heating charms I refreshed before we left.
"We are making good time," Kenric says, looking out at the passing pines. "We should reach the coaching inn by midday."
He hesitates on the word inn. He remembers the last time we stopped at this particular establishment on our way to the capital. He remembers the fleas. He remembers the grease. And he remembers the innkeeper, Joppe, whom Duke Jellema’s men… removed from management.
"I am curious to see if Ieske has maintained her standards," I say, adjusting my gloves. "It is one thing to clean a kitchen when a Princess is shouting at you. It is another to keep it clean when the road is quiet."
"If she hasn't," Kenric says, patting the sword at his hip, "I suppose we sleep in the barn. I promise to keep you warm."
"If she hasn't," I correct him, "I will find a new cook."
We pull into the courtyard an hour later. The transformation is immediate.
The mud in the yard is gone, covered by fresh, clean straw to keep the muck down. The windows of the inn are no longer opaque with grime; they sparkle in the winter sun. Smoke puffs cheerfully from the chimney, smelling of hickory and roasting meat, not burning trash.
But the biggest change is the sign swinging above the door. It is fresh wood, painted in bright, cheerful colors. It depicts a large, golden bird rising from a cooking pot.
The Gilded Pheasant.
I smile. "I do like her. She has a sense of humor."
We step down. The stable boys, the same "waifs" from before, run out to meet us. But they are not waifs anymore. They are wearing sturdy wool coats and shoes. They look fed. They look happy.
"Your Highness!" one of them shouts, grabbing the bridle of the lead horse. "We have the warm mash ready! Just like you showed us!"
"Excellent," I say, tossing him a silver coin. "See that you do."
The door to the inn bursts open. Ieske Kroes wipes her hands on a pristine white apron and hurries out. She has filled out. The pinched look of starvation is gone, replaced by the rosy cheeks of a woman who tastes her own sauces.
She drops into a curtsy so deep her knees brush the snow.
"Your Highness! My Lord Kenric! We saw the carriage from the ridge!"
"Rise, Mistress Kroes," I say. "The yard looks… acceptable."
"It is spotless, My Lady," she beams, standing up. "And the beds have fresh lavender in the straw. No bugs. I swear it on my mother’s grave."
"And the previous management?" Kenric asks delicately.
"Joppe?" Ieske makes a dismissive gesture. "We don't talk about Joppe. Though the wolves in the forest seemed quite well-fed last month."
She ushers us inside.
The taproom is warm. The floorboards have been scrubbed so hard they are pale. The tables are beeswaxed.
We sit near the fire. Ieske brings us ale, real ale, not the rancid swill from before, and a platter.
"Roasted pheasant, My Lady," Ieske announces, placing the bird on the table. "With rosemary potatoes and buttered carrots."
She looks at Kenric.
"It is the meal you were owed, My Lord. With interest."
Kenric laughs, cutting a slice. "It looks magnificent, Ieske."
"Business is good?" I ask, looking around. The room is half-full of travelers, all of whom look surprisingly content for people stuck on a winter road.
"Business is wonderful," Ieske says, lowering her voice. "Since word got out that the beds are clean and the food is safe, the merchants stop here instead of the Royal Post House up the road. We are fully booked most nights."
"And the profits?" I ask.
Ieske hesitates. She looks around the room, then leans in.
"That is the problem, Your Highness. The coin… it piles up. I have a strongbox under the floorboards in the pantry, but… there is so much of it. I worry about bandits. I worry about the tax collectors thinking I am lying."
I smile. It is the same problem Magda the washerwoman had. It is the problem of success in a kingdom built on theft.
"Melina," I say.
Melina reaches into her bag. She pulls out one of the silver-bound books.
"Ieske," I say, sliding the book across the table. "Do you know what this is?"
"A bible?" she asks.
"Better. It is a Silver Ledger."
I open it.
"You are sitting on a trade route, Ieske. You are cash-rich, but security-poor. I am offering you a franchise."
"A franchise?"
"You will become a remote branch of the Royal Fey Bank," I explain. "We will install a drop-safe in your cellar, one of iron and special Fey crafting. You deposit your excess coin there. We credit your account in the capital."
I tap the book.
"But more importantly... travelers need money. If a merchant comes from Varpua and needs gold to buy grain in the capital, he can withdraw it here, from your safe, using his own Silver Ledger. You charge a small fee for the service."
Ieske’s eyes widen. "I become a banker?"
"You become a hub," I correct. "You feed their bellies upstairs, and you feed their commerce downstairs. And in exchange, the Fey Bank guarantees the security of this inn. If bandits come..."
I glance at the window, where the symbol of the Fey Tree is now faintly etched into the glass by my magic.
"...they will find that the Gilded Pheasant has claws."
Ieske touches the silver book. She looks at the busy taproom. She looks at the clean floor. I can see her trying to decide.
- Half financial thriller
- Half travel montage
- Half comedy
- Half empowerment arc
- Jan nearly fainting
- Oskar thrilled to be unsupervised (fool)
- The inn turned into a magically armed franchise
- Strong economic foreshadowing
- And one banker?princess who continues to weaponize competence
What do you think about the opening up a secondary bank & embassy in Varpua? Let me know in the comments...
Are we ready for more torturing of Oskar?