“Master Rimaq, thank you for meeting us at such short notice.”

With a smile, Fadelio lowered his head only the slightest amount. He wouldn't want to spook his host, after all. Even so, the middle-aged man's tiny eyes grew to normal size as he swallowed in surprise. With his yellowed fingers, he forced the warrior back upright.

“Please stand, Official Fadelio! This servant is not worthy to-”

“Stop!” The official raised his hand to brush off the craftsman. His frown backed Rimaq up further. “I'm not some high-strung noble, so you can save yourself the breath, master. Although I might represent a king, I'm still just a warrior myself. Plus, my boss hates formality.”

“Of course, Official Fadelio, I understand. Please excuse me, Official Fadelio,” Rimaq answered, and used repeated bows to prove that he indeed hadn't understood anything. As Fadelio buried his head in his hands, Rimaq stretched his head towards the back room. “KYUNYAAAA! Where is the tea for Official Fadelio! Excuse me Official Fadelio, the boy is always a bit slow. KYUNYA!”

Erratic, the craftsman's head swerved between the king's official and the back, answered by a clatter. It appeared as if the youngster who had led them inside struggled with this master Rimaq as much as Fadelio did.

“Excuse me, may I introduce myself?” Brym asked into the confusion. At first, Rimaq's body jerked over in fright, but once he saw the foreigner's face as well as his outlandish clothes, he began to frown.

“Yes, who're you?” he asked in a rough tone to belie his previous servility. What proper man would ever wear pants after all? Fadelio had warned the kid about it, but Brym didn't 'feel supported', as he said.

“Please excuse me, master Rimaq. my name is Brymstock Fastgrade, merchant under King Corco's employ.” To Fadelio, Brym's plan was clear: If he introduced himself as someone of low status, he would lower the distance and get the craftsman to relax. This time however, the clever Brym might have miscalculated. Although the introduction was simple enough, the craftsman pointed an accusatory finger at the young merchant.

“Don't lie to me, stranger! How could a king ever hire an ordinary merchant under his employ, less said of a foreigner! Please excuse me, official Fadelio, I do not know why the boy would let him in, but I will remove this vermin at once.”

“Stop damnit!” Fed up with the nonsense, Fadelio shouted at the commoner who had started to bow again. He really should have left this job to his sister. For a while, silence entered the room as a dark-skinned brat sneaked between them with their tea. His tray clattered from his shaking hands. While the individual cups were put on the table, Brym took a seat while Fadelio shot a stern look at the master.

“Master Rimaq, Brymstock is a close aide to King Corco. Be aware that the king makes no distinction between commoner or noble. All that matters to him is someone's ability, and whether or not they can serve his people. I would appreciate if you would not insult Brym any further, or you'll have to deal with me, understood?”

Although he didn't raise his voice further, the warrior's frame was enough to make anyone change their opinion. As was his icy tone, really.

“Understood,” Rimaq answered, slumped into his own chair.

“The tea is not bad, by the way.” Brym said from the side after he had taken a quiet sip. An eyebrow raised, Fadelio also took a seat and looked down his murky brown water. Not only the color was unappealing. Like a true product of the Earth, the 'tea' had the natural smell of rotten leaves. Of course he knew the reason, and it wasn't that Arguna's craftsmen didn't have any money. All the good tea from the Isles or Chutwa would only be sold to the nobles. Even if they could pay double, even ten times, the commoners wouldn't get any. In years passed, smuggle operations between warriors and commoners had been tolerated. However, even those loopholes had been closed once the Ancestral Hall had taken power in Arguna. Even though he knew what to expect from Medala's local tea blends, Fadelio clenched his teeth and took a tiny sip.

“Yes, it is quite refined,” he lied.

“This servant is glad my tea is to Official Fadelio's tastes,” Rimaq said, without even blushing. Maybe the paper maker wasn't limited by the ban. Maybe he was just a cheapskate. He still hadn't acknowledged Brym ever since he had been shouted down. Still, at least it seemed like Brym's well-timed intervention had calmed the man enough for a proper conversation. Plus, Fadelio didn't have to actually like the man to fulfill his purpose here.

“So what can this servant do for the King of the South?” the craftsman asked while he rubbed his hands, no doubt in hopes for a large, lucrative order. Thankful to be back on track, Fadelio put down the cup of muddy water.

“King Corcopaca has spent much of his year to get used to the local customs of the south, and to make a positive influence on his new people. A good part of his efforts have been spent on education, and the arts. Both will require a large amount of paper, which is why I am here. They say you are not only an exceptional paper maker, but also one of the best scroll binders in the city.”

At the mention of work, Rimaq grew a grin and his tiny eyes began to sparkle. To Fadelio, it looked like the dirty shine of money. “Of course, nothing would be dearer to this servant than to fulfill the king's mission. How many scrolls does the king require?” the craftsman asked and grabbed piece of paper from his back, to jut down the king's order.

“No, you don't understand. Why would we buy paper here, when we would have to send it through half a dozen estates before we get there? Apart from the trouble involved in a border crossing, wouldn't it be much cheaper to produce it locally?”

“This servant presumed that the local craftsmen of the south had neither the skill to fulfill the king's specifications, nor the capacity to produce the volume the king would need.” Confident in his skills, the craftsman still smiled.

“Exactly,” Fadelio leaned back, “which is why the king wants you to move down south with us and relocate to Saniya.”

Again the paper maker's eyes grew large, even larger than they had when he accused Brym. “Impossible! Official Fadelio, I am a servant of the city! A servant of the courts under the ancestors! How could I ever dare leave their employ!?”

“You're not bound to anyone. Don't forget you're just a craftsman, nothing more. You pay no taxes to the local lords, you aren't registered with them, and you have no obligation to them. Anything you do is of your own free will, and according to the laws of Medala, no one can hold you back if you decide to move.”

“Still, to leave my home, without my family-”

“Your family can come as well, of course. We will also provide you a new house, a better one than this.” He looked around the clean, but plain walls. While the warrior had checked the spartan interior, Rimaq's will had firmed up. He answered the request with a decisive shake of his head.

“Even so, it is impossible. Please do not make things impossible for this servant.”

Again Fadelio got fed up with the grovelling master. More and more he understood why Corco wanted to abandon the ancient rites. The paper maker couldn't have hidden his unwillingness worse if he had tried. Orders of authority wouldn't work, so he was only left with temptations of gold.

“Brym, you brought the paper?”

“Ah, sure,” the brat said, still a smile on his face from all that terrible tea. He put down the almost empty cup and opened the leather bag around his shoulder. From inside he pulled a pristine, rectangular piece of paper, white as snow. Not the gray mess of Arguna of course, the eternal snow of the Sallqata Mountains.

“What is this?” the paper maker asked in confusion. For the first time he showed an earnest look in his eyes, not one of greed, fear or contempt.

“It's paper of course, paper created by the craftsmen of Saniya.”

Between his steady fingers, Rimaq picked up the piece of paper, before he rubbed over its edges and its face. With never-ending patience, Fadelio watched as the paper maker held it against the light of the small window his house ha been allowed. Then the craftsman ripped off a corner piece and rubbed it to crumbs. In the end, he even smelled the paper and put a piece in his mouth, only to spit it to the floor after three thorough chews. Maybe some court etiquette wasn't too bad every now and then, Fadelio thought as he suppressed his frown.

“Impossible.” Eyes agape like never before, the paper maker stared back up from his thorough inspection. “How has this been made?”

“It's good, right?” Fadelio tried to confirm.

“It is whiter than sheep skin. Even thickness and very sturdy. Where did Official Fadelio acquire it? Which master has developed new techniques?”

“I told you, it's right out of Saniya,” the warrior grinned. “You want to learn this technique? Then you will have to move.”

Still unconvinced, calculation returned into Rimaq's face as his eyes narrowed again.

“Then... what happens if I decline?”

“Ahaha, don't worry. We won't make life difficult for you for no reason. If we can't win you over, we will just go visit the next most talented paper maker in Arguna, and ask him if he's interested. Once we have our quotas filled, we won't need to bother you anymore. Don't worry though, even if we produce in the south, you will still get to see more of our paper, so you can learn. With the help of the merchant you so despise,” Fadelio pointed at Brym, “this sort of paper will soon flood Arguna's market, and replace all competition.”

Once the final word was spoken, Rimaq's eyes began to flit around the room again, trapped in fear like he had been at the beginning of their conversation. At this point the outcome was clear. If Fadelio had read the craftsman's character correctly, he would never make a choice against silver.

“And the others wouldn't mind if we keep recruiting like this? The other kings I mean,” Brym asked as he squinted his eyes against the sunlight. While they walked down the road, away from the paper maker's shop, a grin spread over Fadelio's face.

“Saniya has somewhere between nine and ten thousand citizens right now. No one has ever bothered with a reliable census in Arguna, but the city must have at least one hundred times that. Most of those are simple workers, but the next biggest group is craftsmen. If we don't make noise, the great lords and ancestors behind the walls won't even notice that a few dozen of their precious servants are gone.”

“Still, even if the numbers don't matter, I doubt the other kings would just play along, would they?”

“True, but theoretically, we're not breaking any laws here, unspoken or otherwise. And if someone in the triumvirate wants to change the rules… let's say I have an understanding with them. More on that later,” he said with a sneaky look around. One could never be careful enough in Arguna, as spies were everywhere. Case in point, he could spot one of them jog towards him from a side alley. Luckily, it was one of theirs. They waited until the man came to a stop right before him, breath even and posture straight like a soldier. Only the sweat on his face showed that he had gone through any sort of strain.

“Young master, there is a message from young miss Inri,” the spy said as he held a tiny paper scroll out to his master. His brows raised, Fadelio broke the seal of the ghost warriors – a raven pecking a snake – and unfurled the document. After a few seconds of tense silence, he looked back up, a tight feeling in his chest.

“We need to get back to the palace,” he said towards Brym, “Pacha has stopped being an idiot.”