The not-immortal Blacksmith

City of Dragon, Snows Provence, Kingdom of Garthia

36th of Anael, the first month of snow.

Nightfall

Grendel and the children departed the worksite at dusk, along with the other workers, leaving three new watchmen too look after the well. When they arrived at the tent camp near the beach, Grendel was plucked from the children by Lady Brianna and dragged to their tent to bathe and to dress in “respectable” clothing to go and meet the city lord.

“Do I really need to go?” Grendel asked from behind the bathing curtain as he scrubbed himself. “I don’t have anything to contribute to the conversation.”

“You say that almost every time we go to one of these functions.” Bri replied, “Then you get yourself involved in a political or economic argument with some noble or another and make enough sense that people actually listen to you.”

“It’s not my fault they are so stupid.” Grendel groused, “That also means that they notice me. That’s bad for business.”

“But good for gaining information. If you plan on working your way up in your world, you will need both skills.” Maxwell said as he strolled into the tent. “Now stop arguing with your mot— with Bri and finish up in there. We have to be there soon.”

-

The great hall of the lord was warm and well lit, candelabra, sconces and chandeliers filled with candles everywhere. The tapestries on the walls looked freshly laundered, and the collections of weapons and fishing accoutrement that hung between them looked freshly cleaned and oiled. The smell of fresh fall herbs hung in the air, and Max noticed the diffusers cleverly concealed in alcoves behind the larger display pieces.

The great hall of the lord was warm and well lit, candelabra, sconces and chandeliers filled with candles everywhere. The tapestries on the walls looked freshly laundered, and the collections of weapons and fishing accoutrement that hung between them looked freshly cleaned and oiled. The smell of fresh fall herbs hung in the air, and Max noticed the diffusers cleverly concealed in alcoves behind the larger display pieces.

After taking a long inhalation, Bri said “This place smells wonderful! I wonder what the occasion is?”

“I believe it is a charity ball for reconstruction.” Max said, still looking at the chandeliers. “The lord could sell some of the decorations and make more than enough to repair the city, but I think he wants to get the other nobles and the merchants to assist.”

A man in court attire stepped towards the three, “You are exactly correct, lord Smithson.” The man smiled a smile that barely touched his eyes. “His lordship decided, after he met with you, that the best way to secure funds was to throw a “Charity Ball” with a sealed bid auction. The results of which will be announced at the end of the ball.”

“If this is a charity ball, why didn’t we have to pay to attend?” Grendel asked from behind the man.

“You move quickly, master Grendel.” The man gave another smile. “But to answer your question, his lordship considered it, but decided that there were some who should not be required to pay an admission fee. Something about not wanting to cause an incident.”

Grendel grunted in response.

“But please, allow me to introduce myself, I am Adrian Welsman, the lords…left hand.”

“Ah.” Max smiled. “The spymaster, assassin, and general doer of untoward feats.”

“You are correct, as expected of one of your…station.” Adrian said with his first actual smile. “I have made it my mission for the last few days to find out as much about you and yours as I could.”

“Did you learn anything interesting?” Max asked, returning the smile.

“Your roots run deep, and while you take absolutely no advantage of it, you have your fingers in so many pies, that it would take me more than a decade of exclusive work to untangle your connections. Did you know that you are now the major stock holder in National Coffee?”

“Really?” Max stared into space for a minute. “All I did was loan the company some money when I needed coffee delivered to the shop back when I owned the bakery…”

“Yes. The Loan.” Adrian grimaced. “The loan of one hundred Demonian golden heretics; a small fortune then, just as it is now. The loan that enabled the company to monopolize the coffee crop for thirteen years. The loan that established their trade empire. The loan that scared the board enough that they forced the growers, the other importers, and the roasters to conform to a sustainable and fair coffee trade. A standard that continued even in the worst of times. A standard that still exists today.”

“It was just a small loan!” Max argued.

“A small loan for you, yes. For them? For them it was the saving grace of their company.”

“They paid it back in stocks. The loan doesn’t exist anymore.”

“Do you have any idea how much those stocks are worth?” Adrian asked, rubbing his face.

“A hundred gold?”

“Fifty-three thousand gold. Each.” Adrian answered. “You own more than half of the world’s largest trading companies.”

“Huh.” Max shrugged his shoulders. For her part, Brianna’s face went pale. “Well, it has been nice to meet you, Mr. Adrian Welsman. I will keep an eye on your advancement.”

The party walked away from Adrian, who stood stalk still, eyes bulging, and face turned pale. “I’m doomed. Just like they said. I am doomed.” He whispered.

Bri looked at Max after a few minutes, “Are there any other investments that I should take into account?”

“…um… I was working as a baker at the time, and had regular access to coin. There was a bottler of beer that I loaned money too. And that wolfman. Oh, the Ratkin took out a loan to buy some new equipment for their sanitation service, they were expanding to the surrounding communities you see, and needed new wagons and such. I don’t remember what the wolfman was up to, something about cattle breading?” Max shook his head. “I have all the paperwork somewhere…”

“Is there anything else?” Bri arched a well-manicured eyebrow at Max.

“I don’t remember off the top of my head. I was mostly busy making sure the local hoodlums weren’t causing trouble for the legitimate businesses in town, or the surrounding communities.” Max shrugged again. “There is a ledger of the loans, and repayments?”

Bri sighed, and slowly shook her head. “Husband dearest, just because it’s “just money” to you, doesn’t mean it isn’t important to the big picture. You do realize that National Coffee has a yearly budget on par to most nations, do you not?”

“…they were just a couple of guys trying to make a living selling “java juice” back then. Ben and James were wonderful guys. Very loving.” Max’s eyes lost focus, thinking back. “Then there was that brewing machine I helped them invent. Well, by invent, I mean they brought me the idea, and I helped set them up with craftsmen and capital to pay them. The steam from that machine was godly! And what it could do to cream! Truly a work of art.”

Grendel’s eyes almost popped from his head, “You mean the MX Ex-Press-O machine was your doing?”

“Not really? I just worked on the original design. The crafters did all the fine tuning and manufacturing. That’s why I’m not on the patent paperwork. I barely had anything to do with it. Or the semi-automated roaster. Jessi had the idea for preset, but adjustable, settings on the roaster. Much better than my three-position design. I wonder what she did with the rest of her life?”

“Jessi? As in the original owner of J&M Roasters International?” Grendel asked. “The manufacturer of the finest coffee equipment on the continent, and probably the world?”

“…probably?”