02.43: The Enemies We Make — 2
The furnace masters left the meeting with murmured bows and a clatter of boots.
Baron Wulf, on the other hand, remained seated.
I broke the uncomfortable silence.
“Something is bothering you, Baron.”
He wet his lips.
“I am concerned about the changes you are bringing, my lord.”
“Go on.”
“Setting aside the matter of asking the furnace masters to hide those plans from their guild--”
I raised a hand to cut him off.
“That is a matter of our realm’s security. I will declare them and their subordinates my direct employees. Guild rules won’t apply to them.”
“You didn’t say that to them.”
“I wanted to see if they were brave enough to face their guild for the sake of the realm. Do make sure no one bothers them.”
He exhaled slowly.
“As you command.”
Then hesitated.
“Does that design truly produce ten times more iron than a bloomery?”
“Yes.”
And that is the crudest design.
He froze.
“That… is a lot of iron.”
His voice dropped.
“You will make an enemy of the guilds.”
“I need it for our realm’s defense. If they have a problem with that, then I will have them declared traitors.”
He reeled in shock.
I realized my mistake instantly, but it was too late to correct.
Think before you speak, idiot!
Before he could speak, the door creaked open.
Elric stepped inside and bowed deeply.
“Apologies for interrupting, my lord, but you wished to meet the glassmaker today, and it looks like heavy rain is coming.”
I looked at the window. The sky had darkened to a dull iron gray.
“Thanks for reminding me, Elric. Where is his workshop?”
“In a village on the road to Mondgrove. About a quarter of an hour by carriage.”
I looked apologetically at the Baron.
“Could we continue our discussion later? It won’t take long.”
He nodded stiffly.
He didn’t have to say the words that were etched in his expression.
Are you going to piss off their guild as well?
“Did you figure out how much training a glassmaking apprentice costs?” I whispered to Elric outside.
He shook his head.
“No, Sire. The man was very tight lipped.”
“He is the only glassmaker in the entire county?”
“Yes.”
I sighed.
Glassmaking was an expensive, jealously guarded craft, unlike blacksmithing, with the guilds letting only a few learn it.
None of the Cha knew it.
It was also essential for my plans, be it thermometers or vessels for chemical reactions.
I felt bad for the man, but I had to poach his best apprentice.
I found my dusky beauty on the way.
“Hey Reshma, want to come with me to the forest?”
Huffing, she walked away.
I stepped into the carriage, alone.
She had been right about making a proper joint announcement about the new standing army, but my patience had finally run out. My soul yearned for Chadom.
The wheels crunched over gravel as the gates of the castle groaned open.
Fifteen minutes later, I looked out of the carriage and a beautiful view of thick, lush green forest at the base of tall mountains greeted me. Pines and occasional thick leafed trees crowded together, their branches swaying together in the light wind.
The carriage rolled to a halt.
I stepped out and cold air rushed to greet me.
Ahead lay a fortified village, right at the edge of the forest. A wooden palisade as tall as a house surrounded it.
Upon seeing the banner snapping on top of the carriage, guards hurried to open the gate.
Inside, peasants stopped in their tracks to stare.
These people need more food, I thought. Not just more, but better.
Most barely reached my shoulders. Laira would find herself at home here.
One battle at a time.
I didn’t have to search for the workshop.
It was the only structure in the village made entirely of stone, towering over the cottages that kept their distance. Its two chimneys belched black smoke into the gray sky. Large stacks of firewood were placed at a distance on the left side of the building, while a massive mound of sand occupied the right one.
As we walked toward the building, Theo spoke beside me.
“How long will we be in Nobart, my lord?”
“I’m just as eager as you to return to Chadom, Theo. Once Garwin takes his seat in Nebelhain and a council is established in Mondgrove, we leave.”
He nodded.
A wave of hot air slammed into us as we entered the workshop, even though the kiln was in a different room. The one we entered was stacked with finished glassware. Translucent cups and jugs covered the floor, with windows panes resting against the walls. Every object shone in hues of green and browns.
No clear glass in sight.
It’s all contaminated with iron. Should I tell them how it can be fixed?
Nah. Glass was a very expensive product. The first clear glass would come from my own workshops. Cheap clear glass could also lead to a lot of cheap spyglasses; the ability to see far. Not something I wanted the enemy to possess.
It definitely didn’t have anything to do with me wanting to make money from it.
No, sir.
An apprentice with soot streaked face walked from the other door leading to the rest of the building.
He looked at us as if we were ghosts.
“Hi there,” I said.
He stared for half a second, then retreated back into the door, without saying anything.
Rude.
The door had a peculiar seal on it.
Intricately carved metal.
I zoomed in.
The seal of the glassmaker’s guild.
Which meant inspectors and records.
A proper organized cartel, with violent enforcers.
A moment later, the door opened again.
An older man came out, dressed in much finer and cleaner clothes than the young man.
His angry eyes softened the moment they recognized me.
“My lord,” he said, bowing low.
“Master Greld. I would like to see your workshop.”
His eyebrows knitted in confusion for a moment. Then he stepped aside.
“This way, my lord.”
We entered the workshop, and the air instantly turned hot, thick with the smell of lime and ash.
Two massive furnaces glowed red hot, the fire inside roaring continuously.
Sweat-soaked men moved between them, pulling semi-liquid, glowing glass from the fire on long iron pipes, their figures highlighted in the harsh glow.
One lifted the pipe to his lips and blew.
The molten glass ballooned outward like a bubble.
Glass skylights in the roof poured dull daylight inside the dark workshop. Soot covered walls were lined with workbenches, where a dozen workers shaped and cooled the finished pieces.
One of the workers let out a rasped cough. Then another.
No proper ventilation for removing the dust that hung in the air.
Not even cloth masks.
I hid my expression.
All are going to get silicosis. Might not even see their fiftieth year.
Some maybe not even forty.
Progress couldn’t come faster.
“We have manufactured glass for the lords of Nobart for generations,” the master said proudly. “Panes, chandeliers, tableware—”
I didn’t respond. My focus was on the workers.
They didn’t just look tired.
No. It was something more.
They seemed devoid of hope.
Most were teenagers. Some in their twenties.
One might even be on the older side of thirty. He was guiding a younger apprentice, correcting his grip on the blowpipe with a practiced ease.
“All of them are your apprentices?”
He hesitated before replying. “Yes.”
“He looks a little old to be one.”
“He is a journeyman,” he said dismissively.
Old for that as well.
And very skilled, the way he is teaching.
I caught the man’s attention.
“I would like to talk with you privately.”
The man stood dumbfounded, then looked at his master.
Angered flickered in the glassmaker’s eyes, but seeing no other choice, he forced a smile and nodded.
Outside, the cooler air felt like water after the furnace.
The man stood stiffly beside me.
He was thin, but had compact muscles.
“What is your name?”
He refused to meet my eyes. “Ansel, milord.”
“How old are you?”
“Twenty-eight.”
“Why are you still a journeyman? Are you that terrible of a glassmaker?”
His eyes flashed with anger for a fraction of a second, but the mask of deference soon returned.
“Do you know who I am?”
He shook his head.
“I am Jack Nobart, the Count of these lands.”
Color drained from his face.
“I want the truth, Ansel. I swear on my honor that no harm will come to you.”
He exhaled.
“The master won’t let me graduate.”
“Why?”
“Says Nobart ain’t big enough for two master glassmakers.”
I looked back at the workshop.
“He’s not exactly young. Who will take over the work when he can’t do it?”
Ansel almost scoffed, but immediately stopped himself. “He’s training his son.”
“How good of a glassmaker are you?”
“Milord?”
“You heard me.”
He met my eyes. They were tired, surrounded by dark circles, but something sharp looked back.
“If I’d been allowed to graduate, I’d be a master long ago. I made my first masterpiece four years ago.”
“What happened to it?”
“He sold it as his own work.”
“Did you get paid for it?”
A bitter laugh escaped him.
“What if you had the money to set up your own workshop?”
His face paled. “I wouldn’t be allowed.”
“By whom?”
“The Guild.”
I put a hand on his shoulder, indifferent to his soot stained clothes.
“Go on.”
He swallowed before answering.
“A few years ago, one of master’s older apprentices ran away. Started working for another master in Stormhaven. Some ‘thugs’ broke his hands. Couldn’t work anymore and died a beggar.”
“How do you know that?”
“The master likes to tell that story whenever I ask him to let me graduate.”
Anger boiled in me, but I pushed it down.
Not the time.
“Could you set up and run a workshop all by yourself, if you were given the materials?”
He thought for a while.
“Yes, but it won’t be cheap.”
“Not a problem. I’m in need of a personal glassmaker of my own. Someone very skilled, diligent and loyal.”
His eyes widened in fear.
“The Guild?” he asked.
“They won’t be able to touch you under my protection. You will also be leaving Nobart, to not return here for years. In exchange, I will offer you a much better future. Money, friends, and more. So?”
He still looked scared, but nodded.
“Do you have any family here?”
He shook his head. “Gone.”
I called for the glassmaker.
“Master Greld, I would like to acquire Ansel from you.”
His eyebrows shot up. “My lord?”
I let him think about it.
“Can I not serve you myself?”
“No,” I replied flatly.
“The Guild?”
“Need not get involved. Ansel won’t be establishing any workshop in Nobart.”
“What if they come asking questions?”
“Then tell them I purchased him. That I wouldn’t take no for an answer.”
He nodded.
“Still, he’s a valuable worker of mine. I have spent more than a decade training him.”
More like exploiting him.
“I am willing to compensate you for your loss. How does twenty gold sound?”
A gleam of greed flickered in his eyes.
“That would be generous for an apprentice with a year or two of experience, but Ansel is quite accomplished. Almost a master. He’s like my own son.”
“How much?”
“A hundred gold.”
“Thirty.”
“Eighty.”
“Forty. All right now,” I jingled my coin purse.
He sighed, as if he was being swindled.
“I can’t part with him for anything less than fifty.”
“Done.”
His smile returned instantly.
“You drive a hard bargain, my lord.”
I placed the gold coins in his outstretched palm.
“Get your things, Ansel,” I told him, while the older man stared at the larger coins.
“The letter,” he whispered.
“What?”
“The freedom letter from master. Without it, the guild won’t let me work.”
I looked to the old man. “Master?”
Greed rose in his eyes again.
“That would cost more, my lord. I’m releasing him before he is ready.”
“How much?”
“Fifty gold.”
I clenched my hands.
Screw it.
“No. I’m not paying a single coin more.”
“He won’t be allowed to work anywhere without it.”
Give me some time, and all this nonsense won’t matter anymore.
“You want to remain the only glassmaker to the lords of Nobart?”
His face paled.
“I’ll prepare the letter.”
“Be quick.”
“Go get your things,” I told Ansel.
Within minutes, Ansel was back with a small burlap sack.
He bowed deep. “Thank you, milord. I don’t know how I can repay you.”
“By showing me you are worth it.”
He looked me in the eyes. “I’ll show you.”
“Good.”
“The letter?” he asked hesitantly.
I handed him the parchment the old man had reluctantly given.
“Where we are going, you won’t need it.”
He looked puzzled.
“You’ll know soon enough.”
As we approached my carriage, Ansel stopped in his tracks.
“My clothes will ruin the seats.”
“I don’t care,” I said, getting in. Droplets were already falling.
He cringed before entering, then sat down gingerly.
As the carriage began rolling, he looked back at the workshop with longing.
“Miss it already?”
“Not the place, milord. The boys.”
I ground my teeth.
I could have freed them all.
As the lord, I could just forcibly take them away from that prick. But once the guild found out, it would collude with other guilds to destroy the economy of Nobart.
Once the nobles found out I had established councils in Nobart and begun building a proper standing army, they’d consider me a threat.
The Church could come after me for ignoring their version of truth.
I couldn’t afford to make an enemy of the Guild as well.
Not right now.
Opening too many fronts in a war would guarantee defeat.
One battle at a time.
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