A misting rain fell over Altherund. Soft and refreshing. Pleasant, for anyone that wasn’t a tabaxi.

  The [Royal Scribe] picked up the next task in his work pile - a message that, according to the note attached, had been received a week ago - and tried not to snort as he did so. He wasn’t meant to focus on the contents, and even if he did, snorting was so un-dignified. Still, there was no doubt why it had been designated as ‘Low Priority’ by the [Clerks].

  One [Quick Copy] later and he handed both over to the attending [Royal Servant], Bernard, an occasional cards partner of his, who slipped one into a box to go down to the [Record Keepers] and stuck the other in a pile of correspondence and requests to be debated by the King’s Council after lunch. It went in at the bottom. It wasn’t particularly important. Or realistic.

  Bernard passed the stack onto Ser Hawthorne, the [Council Secretary], who in turn brought it into the council chambers just after midday, where it sat, waiting for the honourable councillors to return from their roast boar and venison and stuffed goose, all washed down with copious amounts of silverwine and port, and all paid for by the council’s generous stipend.

  The pile remained there, undisturbed, for more than two hours, before the council reconvened at their round table and, with some slurring of speech at first, the topics for the afternoon were picked up and discussed.

  Renovations for one of the Langschloss forts, the minting of new coins more resistant to the latest [Forgers] tricks, preparations for an incoming grain shortage after the locust swarms at Noscut, three separate requests for pardons by various members of the nobility imprisoned for sedition and harbouring outlaws, the granting of a royal charter to the new Merchant’s Guild outpost in Dralmor, and, most concerningly, rumours of a rogue [Illusionist] running amok in the mid-east of the country.

  The stack of papers steadily shrunk, and as he came and went, seeing to their various needs, Ser Hawthorne was impressed by the unusual diligence the council was showing, until the overly-large [Lord] Savident let loose an even larger belch and called for another bottle of wine, only for the half-dwarven [Lady] Hoddinoit to countermand the order.

  “Come on [Ministers], [Councillors], another forty minutes - an hour tops - and we’ll have enough done to see us through until Aurenday. Johnas, you were just saying that you didn’t want to miss the Festival of the Aster.”

  “Very well,” the fat lord’s jowls jiggled as he folded his arms, “but can we step up the pace? I want this done quickly. I can feel another hemorrhoid coming on. [Let’s Get This Over With].”

  With that mental image conjured, the rest of the council hurried through the remaining issues, until only one was left.

  It was the bespectacled [Minister of Finance], [Lady] Nigella Stockwell, who scanned the final parchment and stifled a giggle as she read it.

  “Well, hurry up.” [Lord] Savident called from across the table. “My [Chef]’s Skills won’t keep my dinner warm indefinitely.”

  A couple of the man’s closer friends smiled. Knowing what he paid the [Chef], the temperature of the food would remain perfect even if the council session took the rest of the week.

  “My apologies,” [Lady] Stockwell bowed her head in the large [Lord]’s direction, “and I probably shouldn’t laugh - I’m sure it was tragic - but somewhere called Wayfarrow is requesting we pay for the cost of seeing off a run-in with some [Soldiers] from Chama that they claim were masquerading as [Bandits]. They want almost twenty-two thousand gold to cover their expenses.”

  Half the room burst out laughing whilst the other half gasped.

  “Let me see that.” The elderly [Lord] Nettleton demanded, snatching the document from her grasp. “[Verify Legitemacy]...”

  The room fell silent as his Skill worked, and he grunted as he flipped through the pages.

  “... well the details are true at least, and they certainly racked up quite the bill dealing with it. Inefficient if you ask me.”

  “Where even is Wayfarrow, and what sort of subsidy do they get?” [Lady] Hoddinoit asked, turning to a couple of the other [Ministers] and the few [Royal Servants] trusted to attend them in the chamber, her eyes ending up on the map of Varethis that hung on the wall.

  The [Minister of Finance] muttered a Skill.

  “[Underling’s Knowledge]. Wayfarrow receives an annual subsidy of nine hundred and four gold.”

  “Thank you, Nigella. So, more than… twenty times their yearly budget. Absurd. And its location is…”

  A score of heads were craned up, scanning the south-eastern section of the map, before a servant cleared his throat and gestured to the south-west.

  “I believe Wayfarrow is the primary - the only - settlement west of the Langschloss near the southern border. No special trade to speak of though it provides a steady stream of herbs for the alchemists of the capital, and shipments of lumber, and luxury meats which might be of sufficient enough quality to make it to even [Lord] Savident’s larders, though recent goblin trou-”

  “Yes, yes, that will do Ser Hawthorne. Could someone point the blasted place out on the actual map though?”

  “[Pinpoint Target], [Deadeye].”

  With a hiss and a thunk, a knife was suddenly embedded in the painted wood, quivering just to the left of the bottom half of the chain of mountains that split most of Varethis in half.

  “Thank you, [Lady] Carrick.” [Lady] Hoddinoit glanced through the letter that was handed around and waved it at the assembled nobility. “According to this, and [Lord] Nettleton’s Skill, the land falls under our jurisdiction; how are we to respond?”

  “Well obviously we aren’t giving them the money.” [Lord] Savident said as the letter reached him. “They’re just being greedy. They’ll have levelled from any challenges they faced. That’s almost payment enough in my books.”

  If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

  Aged and white-haired, the half-elf [Minister of Justice], [Lord] Celenór?’s finger tapped on the circular table they sat round.

  “In the interest of expediency, I believe the standard approach would be to expand their jurisdiction to include the area in question, and to provide a token increase to their subsidy. That puts the problem in their court, rather than ours.”

  “Oh excellent. Do we have staff who can backdate the documentation?”

  “I have three in my department, [Lady] Hoddinoit.”

  “Bravo.” [Lord] Savident began clapping even as he rose from his seat. “Well done all. Those of you I don’t see in-person at the festival, you’re invited to an after-party at my place. Except you Carrick; my wife still hasn’t forgiven you for what you did to her Vinteese.”

  The rest of the room began to get up, with a purple-haired tabaxi woman muttering something about over-hyped bird-brained paint-pushers when [Lady] Stockwell called out.

  “We haven’t decided how much to increase their budget by yet.”

  [Lord] Savident groaned as he pulled on a thick fur coat.

  “Oh, call it two hundred. That should stop too much whining. I’ll cancel one of the state banquets for Albraxia to cover. It’s not like they’ll do anything about it, and I can’t stand their wines anyway.”

  With everything decided, [Lady] Stockwell sent Ser Hawthorne off with a scribbled note and instructions to speak to representatives of a number of branches of the government, and particularly with one of [Lord] Celenór?’s people.

  After a few hours walking halls and enlisting officials, the [Council Secretary] ended up in a remote chamber on the western side of the palace speaking to the [Royal Notary] for the use of one specific Skill.

  “[Backdate Documentation: One Month].”

  Ser Hawthorne raised his eyebrow at that.

  “A handy Skill, Ser Jewesbury.”

  The gaunt man looked up from his desk with lidded eyes.

  “I’ve certainly found it keeps things running.”

  The [Council Secretary] tucked the new paperwork under his arm, alongside the ruling the council had given this small town’s request, and returned to his office to draft the final letter.

  With the application of a Skill or two, it was ready, and he passed it onto the senior [Royal Servant], Bernard, who dutifully made the final run to the scribe's wing, hurrying in just as his friend was about to finish for the day. He slapped the papers down in front of the man, who glared up at him.

  Bernard held up his hands.

  “Just a[Quick Copy], Arthur, and then an invitation to drinks and a few hands down at the Grouse after I get this all sent off?”

  The balding [Royal Scribe] grumbled but complied, and grunted again as he saw what it was he was copying.

  “I could have told you they’d do this and saved everyone a lot of time.”

  Bernard raised his head imperiously.

  “Ser Hawthorne would say The business of government is a noble duty and it is our honour to carry it out in its entirety.”

  That managed to raise a rare snigger from his friend.

  “Please. If some of those dolts in charge put any less effort in they wouldn’t leave their beds in the morning.”

  “Well that’s certainly true of tomorrow; they’re taking the day off for the Festival of the Aster.”

  Arthur rolled his eyes.

  “So we can do the same then?”

  “No such luck. The rest of us still have work even if the [Ministers] aren’t in.”

  “Some would say that’s when we get our best work done.”

  Bernard returned Arthur’s grin.

  “That’s as may be, we can find out tomorrow.”

  Arthur’s good mood faded.

  “Oh come on, Bernard. At least sack the morning off. It’s the festival after all.” He could see the [Royal Servant] wavering. “Just until lunch. I’ll even show you what I got when I reached level 24 last month and save you a trip to the [Messengers] at the same time. You can tell old Hawthorne we were testing a new Skill interaction. It could even be true!”

  Bernard let out a sigh as his stomach growled.

  “Fine. Deal.”

  Arthur’s grin returned.

  “Hope you cave that quickly when I go all in later.” He took the council’s reply to Wayfarrow, and the documentation of their expanded authority, and rolled them into a leather tube. “Now let’s see if this first part works. [Repeat Request], [Quick Copy].” A replica of the original message from the town appeared in his hand, and he added it to the tube with a cry of triumph. “Need to see how far back I can go and how often I can use it, but that’s one but down. Now here’s the good part… I hope… [Return to Sender].”

  The scroll case vanished with a pop, and Bernard’s eyebrows rose to his hairline.

  “Did that go-”

  “Back to the one who sent it here - I hope. It certainly didn't appear in your hands! No reason it shouldn’t head back to Wayfarrow, right?” His smile turned smug. “I knew there’d be an upside to the young [Prince] pulling pranks on the delivery staff all spring. Again, testing needs doing, but that’s what tomorrow morning’s set aside for…right?” He winked at the [Royal Servant].

  “Absolutely! That’s an incredible Skill! Worth a pint at the pub for sure, and perhaps a small raise and role revision if you authorise me to tell Ser Hawthorne and have it added to your official file?”

  Arthur’s eyes narrowed.

  “I don’t know about that. How small are we talking? I’m not going to be a delivery boy for the whole council. I spend long enough here each day as it is. My wife says s-”

  The two continued their discussion as they walked out of the scribe’s wing and through the outskirts of the royal palace, passing dozens of guards in shining steel, still glimmering where the last traces of earlier rain persisted in folds and crevices of their armour. They had reached the pub and sat down with their first round, Bernard honouring his agreement, when on the other side of the country, a scroll case appeared above the table of Intressa Tiluth, making her jump as it knocked the book she was reading from her hands. She examined it with a Skill before cracking the lid and checking the contents, then went to deliver it to a young woman - a simple feat, as she was currently meeting the [Chief Librarian] and a member of the Watch in one of the nearby chambers for the fifth time that week. A woman she was growingly increasingly familiar with herself.

  She handed over the scroll, and as the young lady read it, she began to smile.

  —

  For the attention of Marie Dubois, [Secretary], Wayfarrow.

  I am writing to inform you that your letter and the information attached was received by the King’s Council in Altherund and a decision has been made on the matter you raised.

  Whilst the council commends your work, and the actions of the good folk of Wayfarrow, it regretfully cannot accede to your request for financial reimbursement.

  Although we are sympathetic to your situation, the details with which you were working appear to be out of date. In considering the events you described, it was discovered that the area in question was recently given over to the jurisdiction of Wayfarrow, and therefore the land and any activity within its borders falls under the sole purview of Wayfarrow and its Council, not the King’s Council. I have included a copy of this documentation for you to peruse and for Wayfarrow Council’s records.

  As specified in the documentation, Wayfarrow’s expanded area of influence covers the place of the event you cited, and though this removes any compulsion of the government to offer financial aid in this situation, it should be noted that the increase in Wayfarrow’s jurisdiction has resulted in a corresponding increase in its annual subsidy, which will increase by two hundred gold pieces as a result.

  We thank you for the warning you provided, and the evidence of Chamaian activity included in your missive has been distributed amongst the relevant authorities here in the capital. We will continue to monitor the situation, though initial assessments agree that Wayfarrow is unlikely to be under threat again in the near future.

  The King’s Council, and the government of Varethis as a whole, commends your actions and hopes that the levels and Skills the people of Wayfarrow gained during its difficult time serve you well in the coming years.

  On behalf of [Lady] Nigella Stockwell, [Minister of Finance], and the King’s Council,

  [Council Secretary] Ser Arpel Hawthorne, CRC, PTR, OSG.

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