Rats and Furballs (1)
"You said you needed holy water?"
The bishop looked as though he were wondering why I'd shown up without so much as a courtesy notice. I had other appointments after this one, so I skipped the small talk and got straight to the point.
"That's right."
"Haha, if that was all, you needn't have come in person. Why not send a subordinate? What brings such a distinguished guest all this way?"
"It's been a while since I last saw you, Your Excellency. I figured I'd kill two birds with one stone. Speaking of which — might I ask how much holy water this diocese keeps in reserve at its maximum?"
"Hmm... let me see. There may be a slight margin of error, but on average, you'd be looking at about this much. Ah — what I just told you is treated as classified, so you mustn't breathe a word of it anywhere. I'm sure you understand. You're the young lord of House Reid, with whom our diocese has long maintained close ties. That's why I'm willing to show you our hand."
The bishop glanced about, then lifted a single finger and whispered. One barrel... Far less than I'd expected. Still, it might just cover what I needed for now. I nodded and addressed him.
"That goes without saying. And as for the holy water — I'll purchase the entire barrel you mentioned. Bill the cost to House Reid."
"Wait a moment, young lord. Did you just say the entire amount?"
"That's right. All of it. And I'd like to draw up a separate contract for the exclusive, ongoing supply of holy water."
"Wait — wait just a moment."
Bewilderment flickered across the bishop's face. What's this about? Holy water was priced however the Church felt like pricing it — an unimaginably expensive commodity. I was offering to sit him on a pile of gold. There was no reason to refuse. Unless there was some circumstance I hadn't accounted for?
"...It would seem you aren't fully aware of the inner workings, young lord, so allow me to explain."
"Holy water is, quite literally, sacred and pure water in which an enormous amount of holy power has been concentrated. That is why each consecration consumes a tremendous quantity of both mental energy and holy power. A priest who has finished the rite is left utterly spent — canon law even stipulates that several days of mandatory rest must follow every consecration."
"We may keep a single barrel in storage, but we cannot simply produce more whenever the need arises. On top of that, there are the sick who, by the nature of the water itself, require a steady supply, and a portion that must be tithed to the capital on a regular schedule. So I am sorry to say this, but an exclusive contract would be difficult."
The bishop poured the words out in a rapid-fire stream, sweat beading on his forehead. If that was the reason, it made sense. The Church's internal circumstances weren't something I could have known from the original story.
"I see. If not the entire amount, then a portion will do. Assuming we were to enter into a contract, what is the maximum quantity you could supply?"
"If we cut the portion bound for the capital and the reserve we keep for our own use down to the absolute minimum... I believe we could manage about this much."
The original barrel had already been far from enough — and now even that had been slashed to a third. This is far too little... But I had no other options at the moment. I'd have to content myself with securing even this much holy water on a regular basis.
"A shame, but it can't be helped. I'll settle for that amount for now. However, should an increase in production become possible in the future, I'd like to revisit the contract at that time."
"Ah, that much is perfectly doable. But this is... well. We ordinarily make it a policy not to inquire into the intended use, yet this time I simply cannot help but ask. Might I inquire as to why you are purchasing such a large quantity of holy water?"
From the bishop's position, it was a fair enough question. Anyone would be curious if someone offered to haul away that expensive holy water by the barrelful. I couldn't tell him the real reason, so I gave him the story I'd prepared in advance.
"Haha, there's no special reason, really. I returned to the family recently and went over the inventory of our stockpiled goods, only to find that our holy water reserves had dwindled to almost nothing. We're adjacent to the Forbidden Zone, so problems crop up from time to time, don't they? The wind that blows in from that cursed place is laced with demonic energy, and the nearby land is often contaminated. I figured we'd have plenty of uses for it one way or another, so I came to make an additional purchase."
"Ah, if that's the reason, then purchasing in bulk is hardly unreasonable. I'm simply grateful you were willing to answer. Please forgive my impertinence..."
I'd offered a justification just plausible enough to serve, and the bishop, apparently satisfied, gave a nod.
"It's fine. More importantly, I have an immediate need for it, so I'd like the initial shipment as soon as possible."
"You needn't worry on that account. Quite some time has passed since the last consecration, so the priests' holy power should be fully restored in three or four days. We'll send it to your residence the moment it's ready."
Having secured Father's public endorsement of my authority over the penalty funds at last night's dinner, money was no obstacle. I reached an agreement with the bishop and had the contract drawn up on the spot.
The bishop tried valiantly to keep his expression in check, but a pleasure he couldn't quite hide kept leaking through onto his face. He hadn't been able to sell the entire stock for one reason or another, but he'd still closed a contract worth a fortune. He'd take his cut, and the achievement would look excellent on his record besides.
What he did with the gold he took from me was none of my business. And besides, people who showed a little greed were easier to deal with. It was hard to ask anything of a man who wanted nothing.
By the time I left the church, noon had just passed. There was still time before the meeting, so I decided to kill it wandering the town.
The meeting was held in the manor's grand conference hall. Father took the seat of honor, and since I was present as an observer, I didn't sit at the table itself — a chair had been set a little behind his.
When the hour arrived, a succession of prominent figures filed in and paid their respects to Father. A few of them even made a point of acknowledging me. Not all of them, but some faces lingered in my memory, familiar in their way.
Among them were the heads of House Reid's vassal families; Lorel Hart, commander of our Knight Order; Rus, who led the Mage Order; Becker, chief of security for Maidheaden's main castle; and Gardner, representative of the Chamber of Commerce. Still more filed in after them, and the vast conference hall was packed in moments.
Once it seemed everyone had arrived, Father checked the time and declared the session open. They began bringing out their agendas, each competing to be heard.
"A section of the northern wall of the outer castle collapsed last night. We believe yesterday's rain seeped into the retaining structure. Temporary measures have been put in place, but the northern wall is badly deteriorated, and a similar problem could easily arise again. While we're repairing the breach, a thorough inspection of the whole stretch would be advisable."
"Sardine catches are down about thirty percent from last year, but mackerel and cod have nearly doubled. A few days ago, a fishing boat even sank under the weight of its catch. If this trend continues, we may find ourselves badly short of salt for curing and mana stones for freezing. The closed season is still a long way off, so the necessary supplies ought to be prepared well in advance."
"Sighting reports of monsters from the outlying villages have surged. Spring arrived about ten days earlier than usual this year, and apparently the monsters' breeding season has accelerated to match. From Glentham alone, there have been ten reports of Ratmen and seven of goblins. That was the count as of my departure, so I expect the numbers will have climbed further by the time I return. We need to tear up their breeding grounds before they spawn another generation."
"We're in the same situation. A number of potato and turnip fields outside the fences have been raided, and a farmer standing watch with a patrol was badly wounded. On top of that, a report has come in from Macni, a village in our territory — a footprint three times the length of an adult man's was found in the mountains. The rain has since washed the trace away, but the ranger insists it was a Troll. The area ought to be searched at least once."
"Becker, have stonemasons brought from Alston to inspect the walls. And while we're at it, have them look over the walls on the other sides as well, not just the north. Submit a budget once the repair costs have been estimated. Also, investigate thoroughly for any sign that someone might have brought it down deliberately."
"Salt and mana stones can be covered to some extent by releasing our stockpiles. Calculate the required amounts and inform the steward. If it still looks like we'll fall short, we'll purchase more at that time."
"The goblin, Ratman, and Troll sightings will be handled together. When you return to your territories, draft soldiers and assemble subjugation parties. We will mobilize personnel from the Knight Order and the Mage Order as well. Lorel, Rus, and the rest of you — stay behind. We'll draw up a detailed subjugation plan after the meeting."
Father produced solutions to his retainers' reports without the slightest hesitation. Cold, composed, and calculating — it was a side of him I never saw when he was with the family. Come to think of it, the only reason a house of former frontier administrators had risen to become one of the South's great families was the competence of my father, Albert Reid. I'd almost forgotten, watching the man he was at home.
Time passed, and every report had been heard but one: Gardner's, representing the Chamber of Commerce. He rose from his seat, cleared his throat, and began, his eyes on Father.
"Ahem. Wheat, barley, and oats are all heading for a bumper harvest. Wheat in particular — last winter was a dry one, and the yield is expected to exceed three times last year's. What's more, we've confirmed that the bumper crop isn't limited to Maidheaden. It's a phenomenon across the entire southern region."
"The concern is that the sheer volume of the harvest makes a collapse in grain prices highly likely. The other southern lords are tearing their hair out over what to do with the wheat, and some are even considering burying it in the ground. As for us, more than eighty percent of the granaries within the territory are still full. Renting warehouse space from the guilds wouldn't change the picture much — their situation is hardly different. If the harvest arrives in this state, serious disorder is all but guaranteed. We have less than two weeks until then, so some kind of measure must be found before it does. We'll need to expand the warehouses — or, if that isn't feasible, we may have to dispose of the surplus ourselves."
"Wheat... wheat, is it..."
He had cut through every other matter without pause, but the disposal of the crops seemed to have Father genuinely stumped. I had been watching from behind when, all at once, it was as if a light had flicked on in my head.
If I played this right, the surplus wheat might make it easier to do what I needed to do — the thing that would keep our territory from being destroyed. And I might even turn a profit on the side.
The meeting was winding down. Gardner's proposal, lacking any clear solution, seemed to have been tabled for later. I decided I would run my idea by Father, and waited for the session to adjourn.