The clerks had their heads down, pens moving quickly across blindingly white, crisp paper. The words flowed neatly, in orderly lines and columns next to crisply drawn numbers. They would dip their copper nibbled pens into ink wells, write, and periodically, blot dry their work. Mistakes were inevitable, but very rare. They had better be. Ink, pen, paper, time- each was worth a small fortune. There were exactly one hundred clerks in the scriptorum, silently writing away. There was exactly one man, sitting at the raised desk, overseeing them. One man who could, with a stroke of his pen, change the lives of thousands, perhaps millions, across the continental West. Xiatamtai.

No one looked up. No one watched the door. No one counted the hours or minutes. They didn’t dare. But every heart was hanging, and every ear was waiting, waiting for pounding footsteps to come running to the door.

A drab old man silently stood behind Xiatamtai, and set a small cup of warm water down in front of him. Then, with long practiced ease, he started massaging Xaitamtai’s shoulders. Neither said anything. No one said anything. Everyone had their eyes on their work, and were definitely not paying attention to the door.

A thunder of hoof beats, coming from outside- too many for a messenger, surely. Cracking whips, the sound carrying over a wall and through the thickly insulated walls. There- the pounding feet. Too many, surely too many! How many people does it take to deliver one report?

The double knock, then the soft swish as the doors were pushed open. No one, not the Gods themselves, would burst into Xiatamtai’s scriptorum without knocking. No one looked up, as the heavy boots with their wooden heels snapped across the floor.

“Sir! Report from the Colloquium, Sir!”

There was a soft rustle of paper, then silence. A minute later, the letter was passed up to the old butler to read.

“It is agreed amongst the Five City Alliance that, for the good of the People and the prosperity of all, a universal currency will be adopted. This currency will be called Rads, and be based on the decimal system. The existing currencies will convert into Rads at the following rates-“

The dam broke. Pens were put down as cheers rose from the clerks. People yelled in relief, hugging their neighbors and laughing. Then the chant started.

“Xiatamtai! Xiatamtai! Ten thousand years! Ten thousand years! Ten thousand years!” The clerks had tears of honest joy running down their faces, as they looked adoringly up at the old man. It was the culmination of his decades of effort, of careful politicking and subtle cultural education. And he pulled it off!

The elegant old man stood and nodded fondly at his clerks, acknowledging their applause. Keen eyes noticed a slight upward pull of his lips. A roar of triumph, by his standards. He waived them down gently.

“Alright, alright, that’s enough noise. You all should practice some decorum! Running riot in this old man’s scriptorum. In fact, I am so upset that I don’t want to see any of you.” He raised his voice, the timber dropping slightly, the cadence quickening. “I am granting a Remission of Hours. Twelve of them, in fact. I don’t want to see any of you until Six in the morning tomorrow.”

Loud? They practically raised the roof! Twelve whole hours, all at once! Insane! Unheardof! Only one man, only one Clan could do it. Old Master Xiatamtai, of the Cold Garden Xia. The immortal Xia! Eternally triumphant Xia!

“We are completely fucked.” Xiatokte paced back and forth angrily. “Completely, unrecoverably fucked.” His billowing, gilded clothes hid a wiry frame, but nothing could hide the thinness of his face or the hollows of his eyes.

“It's the Nomekis. This is classic Jerri Nomeki. Anyone want to wager she sold it as Red Mountain taking a loss for the good of everyone?” Xiatokmai lounged in a chair, careless of how she rumpled the gorgeously embroidered cloths. She was no less hollow eyed than Xiatokte, though she ran more to fat. She felt it lent her a prosperous air, and perhaps it did. She didn’t look like she was prospering now, though.

“The fucking exchange rates! The fucking, thrice damned, shit scrubbed exchange rates!”

“Perfect time for it. I mean, we held almost all their paper, and this wipes out a huge portion of their debt. Not all of it, and it leaves them with a really limited currency reserve, but given their trade volume-“

“I FUCKING KNOW, MAI! I WORK HERE! WE ALL WORK HERE! Xiatokte bellowed.

“Enough.” Xiatoktok sat quite still, not a hair out of place, not a stitch wrinkled. “Enough. Harmony. The storm rages outside, not in our chambers. Let’s lay the problem out plain, then talk about solutions.” He was ever the voice of reason and harmony amongst them. It was a major reason they chose him to lead the investment banking group.

“The problem is this- we bought up significant amounts of the Red Mountain’s sovereign debt. We hedged it by selling the bonds on at a premium, but we held on to most of it. We all knew that this currency unification was in the works, but with how aggressively Red Mountain was developing, the notion that they would wipe out their capital reserves to clear their debt was never seriously considered by the Risk Committee. Specifically, the notion that they would artificially lower the value of their currency to less than half of what it should be, was never considered at all.” Xiatokmai paused to gulp down some wine. “Because it’s going to cause them a world of hurt. They just wiped out the savings of every person holding Red Mountain currency.”

“They fucked themselves, so they could fuck us.” Xiatokte snarled, rapping his knuckles on the polished maple table. “All their debt is now worthless. Sure, we won’t loan them more money, but they don’t care- they will raise new capital through Nomeki. They will secure loans against their huge and growing trade volume, and use that to finance more expansion. Probably buy off their public with all the new investments, paid with shiny new rads.”

“Which means that our capital reserves are now in critical danger. We were relying on the interest from those loans to cover twenty percent of our revenue for the next three years, and we loaned accordingly. Which is to say that we are now badly over-extended. We are facing a terminal cash crunch in twenty six days, when next month's payments are due.” Xiatokmai concluded. “Boy am I glad we brought back fractional reserve banking, yes I am.”

“It did seem like a good idea at the time.” Xiatoktok said, dryly. “Alright, in twenty six days, the next round of cash dibursments are due to our borrowers. We are short twenty percent of… oh someone get a computer to calculate just how many Rads we need to come up with.”

“Not just for next month, we will need the cash every month going forward for the next three years. And that’s assuming Red Mountain doesn’t fuck around even more and tank their currency further. Which I don’t assume for one second.” Xiatokte spun to look out the window. His hands were clenched behind his back, the knuckles turning white with fear and anger.

“You know what kills me? What actually, completely fucking kills me? The Old Man had to know this was coming. Maybe not us, exactly, but he knew that some of the business groups would be caught out. And that means a reorg.”

Xiatokte spun back towards the table, glaring around at his cousins. His grin was sickly, manic.

“One thousand two hundred hours. One Thousand TWO HUNDRED FUCKING HOURS REMITTED! Are you shitting me?! The Old Man didn’t get where he was by being stupidly generous, and LIKE FUCK he is paying bonuses out of his own clock. No, this is coming from liquidations. From reorgs. From. Fucking. Us.”

They all flinched at that. It was a matter of serious pride to Xiatoktok that in all his decades, he hadn’t lost a single second. That kind of time… it wouldn’t be as simple as lost time. He might just ruin his whole family.

“Alright. Solutions?”

“Raise money by selling shares? Get a loan from another banking group?”

“Fat chance. Sell the paper on to some sucker that doesn't know the score, then pump the money into new investments. Something with a high fucking short term return.”

“Wishful thinking.” The two bickered back and forth, while Xiatoktok watched. They were good at their jobs, highly experienced too. But the hole they had dug for themselves was too deep for a speedy escape.

The meeting broke up, with a plan to reconvene in three hours. Xiatoktok went home. He had no plans. He just wanted to collapse and lay his head in his wife’s lap. Maybe scream. Or eat something. He should probably eat something.

“You should eat something.” Xiatokja stroked his hair. “You don’t eat when you are anxious, then you get more anxious because you haven’t eaten. Here, have some fried bread sticks.” They were sweet and crunchy. He hardly tasted them.

“Now, can I assume everything is irreparably screwed and we should all plan to live like Ma on the plains?” She asked.

“Oh… that sounds like a good plan A.”

She chuckled.

“Want to tell me about it?”

“Not yet.”

“Alright. Well, I want to tell you something that will cheer you up.”

“Unless it is a remarkably selective plague breaking out, I’m not sure-“

“Shh. Remember that seed cache that my section is test growing?”

“Vaguely.”

“Well, the initial assessments were off. Most of the seeds were standard stuff, but two of them are special. The oil seeds? They are Pelican Black. And not just any Pelican Black- Third Swabian Pelican Black, and it looks like they were specially bred for short growing seasons.”

Xiatoktok sat up so fast he got a little light headed.

“It gets better. The root stock- that damp twig looking thing? It’s sylphium.”

“I thought it went extinct!”

“It did, during the Fourth Empire. But it’s growing happily in my greenhouse now!”

Xiatoktok’s mind was spinning madly, trying to game out how to use this discovery.

“We now have the absolute best oil seeds of the last epoch, and a reliable herbal contraceptive. And you own, personally and through the bank, a nice little chunk of the holding company that owns the seeds. Feeling better?” She chuckled happily.

“Not yet, but soon.” He grinned back at her, loving her as much as he did when they made their vows.

“I will drink all of you down, consuming all your tomorrows, that you will forever be a part of me. I will leave you nothing of yourself.” He whispered, stroking her face. She leaned in, touching her forehead to his and gently rubbing their noses together.

“Drink of me then, drink of me until you drown, for my tomorrows are endless. Your future will line the bottom of my eternal well, never to be parted.” They kissed softly, still in love after all these years.

Xiatoktok sat at the head of the table, making a few notes on his own blindingly white pad of paper. He looked poised. Refreshed. In perfect harmony with his scene. His cousins hated him savagely for that. At least he could have the decency to sweat.

He put down the pen, and looked up sharply at his cousins.

“Let me explain to you how we are going to get out of this, and then how we are going to own half the continent in ten years. Or less.”