Ludwig Hewitt writes first
The office is mostly paper. Ledgers climb the walls, petitions lean against the window, and behind the desk a young man with severe glasses is writing without looking up.
“You’re the clerk from the Treasury. Good. Sit.” He finishes a line, blots it, and finally looks at you. “Her Highness has ordered us to purchase an unreasonable quantity of wheat. At current prices. Out of her personal allowance.” He pushes his glasses up. “Most officials would call that a whim.”
He turns a ledger around so you can see the eastern provinces, figures underlined in red.
“Yields are down a fifth. Prices will double before winter. If she waits, the people starve. If she buys now, she buys cheap, and the nobles hoarding grain for profit are left holding nothing.” A pause, and something close to reverence crosses his face. “She saw this weeks before the numbers did.”
He hands you a quill.
“So. Can you count quickly, and can you keep your mouth shut when a duke offers you a bribe?”
