Chapter 119: The Arrival of Craftsmen

The study was quiet.

Emeric sat at his desk. Bjorn across from him. A map of the estate spread between them with notes and sketches.

"The west wing is sealed," Emeric said. "Structural damage. The library has water damage. The ballroom is abandoned. The basement is warded. There are leaks. Cracks. Rot. The east wing needs renovation. The guest quarters are barely functional. The kitchens need work. The stables are falling apart."

He paused.

"And the village is worse. Half the houses are destroyed. The well is contaminated. The temple lost its roof. The market is gone. The crops are ruined."

Bjorn studied the map. His finger traced the lines.

"That’s a lot."

"I know."

"You have the funds?"

"Some. Not enough."

Bjorn grunted. "We’ll make it work. We always do."

They talked for an hour.

Bjorn asked questions. Emeric answered. The state of the estate. The state of the village. The state of the finances. Emeric let him know about the merchant guild and the debt that was owed.

Bjorn listened. Didn’t interrupt. Just absorbed.

When Emeric finished, Bjorn leaned back.

"The Guild is coming today?"

"Yes."

"With lawyers?"

"Yes."

"And you have a plan?"

"Not yet."

Bjorn studied him.

"You’ll figure it out. You always do."

Emeric smiled and stood up.

"Thanks."

"Don’t thank me. Just don’t die." Bjorn stood. "I’m going to inspect the estate myself. Figure out what needs to be done. I’ll have a full report by tomorrow."

"Good."

Bjorn walked to the door and paused.

"Emeric."

"Yes?"

"Your father would be proud."

Emeric blinked.

"What?"

"You heard me." Bjorn didn’t turn. "He wouldn’t say it. But he would be."

He left.

That left him with more questions than he cared for but he quickly brushed it out of his mind.

Graves appeared in the doorway.

"My lord."

"Graves. Come in."

The old butler entered. His expression was carefully neutral. But there was something in his eyes. Something hesitant.

"My lord. I couldn’t help but notice... the craftsmen."

"Yes?"

"They are... diverse."

Emeric looked at him. "They are."

"Dwarves, my lord. In the estate."

Emeric set his pen down. "Is there a problem?"

Graves hesitated. "No, my lord. It’s just... dwarves are not always... welcome in noble houses. There are... biases."

"I’m aware."

"Some of the servants may be... uncomfortable."

Emeric leaned back. Studied him.

"Graves. Do you have any objections to Bjorn or his people?"

Graves met his gaze.

"No, my lord. As long as you trust him."

"I do."

"Then I have no objections."

Emeric nodded.

"Good. Then we’re done here."

Graves bowed. Left.

Emeric sat alone in the study.

The sun was rising. The estate was waking. The craftsmen were already at work—inspecting the west wing, the library, the ballroom, the basement.

He could hear them. Hammers. Saws. Voices. The sound of building.

The study was quiet when Graves returned.

He entered with a leather folder tucked under his arm. His expression was carefully neutral. But there was something in his eyes. Something sharp.

"My lord."

"Graves. Sit."

The old butler sat. Placed the folder on the desk. Opened it.

He was less hesitant towards sitting down now.

"These are the documents I was able to procure."

Emeric leaned forward and looked at the folder. It contained contracts, letters and when signatures. There was also a ledger of the list of some minor houses and even some major ones.

"What am I looking at?"

"Evidence, my lord. Of the Guild’s... less legitimate practices."

He pulled out a contract, and held it up.

"This is a loan agreement. Signed by Lord Lacona. The interest rate is listed as thirty percent. But the fine print—here—states that the rate compounds weekly, not annually. That’s illegal under Crown law. The Guild has been doing this for years. They hide it in the fine print. Most nobles don’t read it. They just sign."

He pulled out another document.

"This is a letter. From Master Vell to a minor noble. It threatens... consequences if the debt is not paid. The language is coded. But it’s clear intimidation and borderline coercion."

He pulled out a third.

"And this. A ledger. From the Guild’s own records. It lists seventeen houses. Seventeen debts. Seventeen seizures. All of them illegal. All of them documented. If this were to reach the Crown... the Guild would be ruined."

Emeric studied the documents and his mind raced.

"Or at least they should be. Since all of this is illegal. But there’s no telling who they have in their pocket but I am willing to bet it’s some high ranking nobles in the Supreme Court or the royal palace."

Emeric pondered for a few seconds.

"This is enough."

"Perhaps, my lord. But the Guild has lawyers. Connections. They may find a way to discredit these. Or to make them... disappear."

"Then we don’t show them everything. We hold back. We play our cards close to our vest."

Graves inclined his head. "Understood, my lord."

He closed the folder and handed it to Emeric.

"I will leave these with you."

"Thank you, Graves."

The butler stood, bowed and left.

Just as soon as he had left, the door opened.

Isolde wheeled in with Tatia behind her.

Emeric looked up and smiled but it didn’t reach his eyes.

He had too much on his mind

"You look like you’ve seen a ghost," Isolde said.

"The ghost of this place maybe."

She wheeled closer. Stopped beside his desk. Reached for his hand.

"Tell me."

He told her what Graves had just shown him and what he planned to do.

He planned to counter-blackmail the Guild.

It was dangerous but he only needed to reach for the guild’s neck with an even bigger knife than they were pointing at him.

When he finished, she was quiet for a moment.

She looked at him with absolute trust that he felt he didn’t deserve.

"You know what you’re doing."

"I hope so."

"You do." She squeezed his hand. "You’re smarter than they think. You’re stronger than they think. You can do this."

He looked at her.

"You believe that?"

"I do."

She leaned in. Kissed him. Soft. Slow.

When she pulled back, she was smiling.

"Now. I should go. Tatia is waiting."

Tatia stepped forward and bowed.

"My lord."

"Tatia."

She wheeled Isolde out.