Chapter 83: Mercantility

Chapter 83: Mercantility

I have to hand it to Mihel - when he wants to, he makes a flawless impression of pissed off drill sarge. Like right now. The walls are literally vibrating from his shouting, and I'm not exaggerating in the slightest - on the scale of a building, it actually measures on the Richter scale. Admittedly, he DOES have the reason for it. This bright and early morning, while more of me went off to cure consumption in the south, some more of me had visited van der Klaases, secured elder's assistance and went down to the merchant guild to find out who the fuck is behind the hinky entries in the ledgers. The results are NOT in any way pleasant to hear... Which, well, is the reason why Mihel is showing off his sonic wattage capacity.

Upon asking some questions and clerks shrugging at each other and us, we've come to a startling conclusion that the amendments in the books were not a case of the clerk being duped. Which, in retrospect, is not that weird, because Mihel's personal copy is not in any way magically connected to the master ledgers in the Guild, he simply turns it in whenever he's around and scribes add to it from the master ledger. There's a grand total of thirteen scribes who handle this, and they are all rather explicitly barred from ever interacting with any of the guild clients for the sake of security. Which, in turn, means that the hapless scribe in question might kiss the job goodbye.

The con, as it usually is, is startlingly simple when you think about it. The scribe in question, a fourth daughter of viscount Dragele, apparently had aspirations for a more glamorous lifestyle. Unfortunately, viscount Dragele is a notorious gambler, meaning that all of his kids have to hold some kind of job if they expect to be fed. The salient points of the story are, in order, a meeting in the tavern about two weeks ago, few dinners paid for by generous "madame Konistan", a "revelation" that "Ouv courshe, darlink, my dearesht Vole gave the foonds to open the Schveet Dream. Oh, if only I could reeegister the veddeeng befoore the shop." and our would-be high-rolling socialite fell head over heels in a hurry to be useful to such a "generous person".

Me and Mihel exchange commiserating looks when the scribe in question SUDDENLY connects the dots and realizes that king's adviser on all manners mercantile coming over to shout at her personally means the "just a little rewrite" is actually a big deal and shit is about to hit the fan on turbo setting, and promptly bursts into tears. He facepalms and turns away, palming a fresh sheet of paper off the stack to start scribbling on it.

"Lady Gillespie, as agreed, I am hereby turning this person over to you to exact your retribution as you please." - he proclaims out loud, prompting a fearful wail from the guilty party - "As of now, she is no longer with the guild. Scribes are currently excising the fraudulent correction and rewriting the pages under the supervision of inquisition, the writs confirming the veracity of record restoration will be delivered to you, guild and Grand Inquisitor Malachi."

Well, this is... annoying. I don't really want a gullible yet grasping crybaby. What am I even supposed to do with her? Ignoring the moron for a moment, I take the documents Mihel wrote out and scan through them. Pretty boilerplate, that. Speaking of which...

"Say, Mihel, I have a bit of proposition for the guild." - I tell him, and he snaps up, brow quirked.

"In... relation to this incident?" - he hedges.

"Tangentially. I couldn't help but notice you lot tend to use pretty standardized forms for things." - I proffer - "It must be annoying to fill out the standard text by hand each time."

He frowns - "True, but... How else would one do it?"

"I'm sure you've seen newspaper already." - I tell him, and his face brightens up as he grasps the implications... then darkens again.

Now, what to do with the scribe? According to the writs Mihel had given me, the guild essentially disavows any and all connection to the woman in question. They restore all the records to the original condition, there were no actual monetary losses so me and Mihel agree to call it even with an understanding that there will be increased scrutiny on remaining scribes to produce accurate records. In fact, once they get the copying machines, the number of scribes in that particular position will be sharply reduced. So I have little worries on that front, now that Mihel is aware of that particular tactic, any further attempts at fucking with Guild records will be uprooted before something untoward comes out of it. That leaves me with one woman who, by the law of Champagne, is in my indentured service for ten years.

"What is your name?" - I demand of her as she follows me sullenly into the carriage.

"..Aaa..." - is all I get for my troubles.

"Something coherent, please." - I insist, leaning back on the benchrest - "Your further fate entirely depends on how helpful I find you to be. Frankly speaking, I have no use for you as is, so unless you manage to persuade me you're worth something, I'll just send you to Gillespie county to be a maid at the estate. Which, just so we're clear, means you're going to be an old maid, because all the decent men out there are well and happily married."

This is, strictly speaking, a lie, but since she's from nobility, a decent man in her mind translates to "noble", and there are few of them at marriageable age out north who aren't already engaged or married. And she's not exactly the seductress material to get one of the married ones to switch over to her, either. Drageles are not exactly on the rise right now, owing to the family head being a compulsive gambler, so...

"Aaaa... Margot, my name is Margot, mistress!" - she manages. I guess the threat is hitting the mark.

"Right. So. Barring the writing, what are you good at?" - I inquire blandly - "I believe it's painfully obvious I'm not going to entrust you with scribing anything, considering how you ended up in my care."

She visibly racks her brains. "...I'm good at calculating?" - she ventures, then facefaults when she realizes it's a bit too close to previous occupations - "I.. I... I'm also good at sartorial affairs!"

Hm. Typical noble. With her trust bank completely exhausted, she has little if any other fallback. Darn. Wait, sartorial? Clothes? Maybe Lily-Anne has some ideas?

I pull out my copperphone and call up Lily-Anne. "Hey, dear." - I murr into it - "Quick question. Are you still on for that fashion shop you've been thinking about?... Yes?... Good, good... No, well. Remember that problem with records at Merchant Guild? Well, I find myself thinking what am I to do with a dismissed scribe... No, good grief. Of course not the records. She said something about being good at sartorial affairs. A sales representative, I'm thinking. Not handling any money, that's gonna be sales clerk's job, but showing people around and helping them pick the best ensembles or some such... Sure... Oh, goodness, no. I sincerely doubt Dragele is going to scrape together the fine to buy her out, so... Nah, if she doesn't work out, I'll just send her up to the estate to be a maid... Yeah, alright."

Snapping the phone closed, I put it back into my pocket and address my hapless new acquisition. "I'm turning you over to Lily-Anne. Yes, princess Lily-Anne. She plans to open a fashion boutique. It is in your best interests to impress her with your impeccable sartorial affairs comprehension. If you manage, you'll be working at the capital and meeting a lot of nobles. If you don't... Maid in the estate is always an option." - I tell her, and she nods fearfully. Well, that's handled. Now I need to wrangle Malachi and go have a chat with the madame Konistan. She should be at the optimal despair levels by now.