The Dragon's Banker

by Scott Warren

  Twin wisps of smoke trailed from her nostrils, as well as her cigarette as she flicked the ash through the window curtain. There seemed to be a lot of the stuff. I coughed again. But whatever traits I possessed, rudeness was not among them. So I offered her such small indulgences, though I resolved to air out the cabin of the carriage some days before using it again.

  “I am here pursuing the interests of my father, the Lord Alkazarian. In light of the recent developments in the economies of Borreos and your neighbors, he feels that his substantial holdings are at risk. He seeks”—and here she smiled, her eyes drifting up toward the roof of the carriage with some amusement—“financial representation.”

  I considered, tucking an errant lock behind my ear where it belonged. “The standardized bank notes. Your father must have substantial holdings in hard currencies, gemstones, and,” I said, eyeing her necklaces, “precious metals.”

  If Lady Arkelai resented or misinterpreted my leering, she gave little indication, nodding only her assent of my assessment. It was true that someone with wealth in purely physical stores of value could face depreciated worth in the face of an economy not backed by such commodities. Subjected to healthy inflation, uninvested wealth diminished over time. This Lord Alkazarian—an unfortunate pseudonym—would not be pleased if state-issued notes moved from a curious experiment to accepted practice across Borreos and the greater continent of Varshon that had begun to adopt them. Gold of course would retain some value as an accepted backup store of wealth while platinum and silver were intrinsically valuable for their rarity and alchemical properties.

  “Very observant, Sailor,” said Arkelai, drawing my gaze back up to her face. I coughed for a third time, little to do with the miasma of spiced smoke suffusing the cabin. Whoever her father really was, the man was extremely wealthy. That his daughter had been dispatched to Borreos suggested a plurality of other details that together I had pieced into a mosaic of insight.

  The carriage drew to a stop, and I took the opportunity to relieve the cabin of its thick miasma by tying back the curtain. The breeze, still cool this time of year, pressed into the cabin and carried in the distant words of Queen Liza as it carried out the heat. She introduced Darrez Issa, the Master of the Royal Mint. The slender figure stepped forward, morning sun glinting off the gold rims of his spectacles as he cleared his throat. I settled back into my seat to watch with my new acquaintance.

  Chapter 3 – Legal Tender

  Little was said during the announcement that I did not already know. The notes would be backed by the authority of the Borrean government and recognized as legal means of payment. They were now the only authorized form of physical tax settlement. The government also authorized a five percent credit for profits claimed, if those profits were exchanged for bank notes.

  This made some small difference in the grand scheme of Southern economics. Gold had changed hands for years without ever actually touching hands, but it still had to be mined, minted, and stored in a vault. Now currency could change ownership without ever being printed. True wealth had two faces: hard currency in vaults, and even more real, numbers in thick bound ledgers covered with old cracked leather. My mind spun with the possibilities of futures trading, speculation, and marginalized lending. No aspect of shipping or industry was safe from my daydreaming.

  Lady Arkelai watched the proceedings in silence, aside from shooing away a stray dog that became agitated with the carriage. Darrez Issa delivered the specifics, as advertised. A skeleton of a man in thin round spectacles that turned his eyes to white discs, he spoke approximately six and a half words before attempting to retreat only to meet the stern reproach of Queen Liza. He abhorred crowds. His best work was performed in the shadows, not the limelight.

  Despite his aversion to proceedings, the seldom occasions I had to meet the Master of the Royal Mint following last year’s unpleasant events presented me with a man as sharp as an eagle’s talon who seemed to know more about my businesses than even I did. And left behind a desire to never fall under his regard again. All profitable ventures tended to skirt the very edge of the law, and Issa’s job was finding those who stepped beyond the threshold in the name of riches and punishing them in accordance with the Queen’s justice.

  As Darrez Issa was forced (practically at spearpoint) to field questions from the citizens and businessmen not already in the know, I regretted that I would be forced to disappoint my companion.

  “Lady, as you can see, this change brings equal shares in both opportunity and uncertainty. What you need is a fiduciary to manage your liquid assets. Not a merchant banker to develop your business interests. My existing investors will be demanding my personal attention in the coming seasons, not only to vouchsafe their investments, but to explore the possibility of money-making as more and more merchants begin offering non-controlling interests in their caravans and voyages. Please understand, I would like nothing more than to represent your father’s wealth. I can in good conscience recommend several individuals in the city that could suit your needs. Perhaps my friend Marlin—”

  Arkelai held up a single hand, the nails upon which, hitherto unnoticed, had been filed to short, sinister points. They seemed to blur before my eyes. Whatever spices occupied the smoke, at least one of them was intoxicating me.

  “Master Kelstern, what drives you?”

  “Dannic, mostly,” I replied.

  Arkelai smiled and twin plumes of spicy smoke puffed from her nostrils as she chuckled. She looked at me and rolled her eyes, as if to say get on with it. And when she met my eyes again, I swear they brightened for the barest instant, reflecting in the half-hundred silvery discs across her chest.

  Perhaps the smoke made my tongue looser, or perhaps being in the presence of so much glimmering finery lightened my head. In either case, I suffered a brief moment of honesty that cracked the masks we all wear, even to ourselves.

  “Gold, silver, platinum,” I said. My eyes were drawn again to her neckline. “The shimmer, the shine, the weight, and the texture of all things valuable. The way they look and sound and the power they have to move sailors and soldiers, to shift ships and fortunes. And the way I find it hiding in the cracks and crevices of the great machine of commerce.”

  I pulled the crisp new bank note from my jacket pocket, and Arkelai peered at it with interest as I felt the subtle weave of the linen on my skin and snapped the printed note straight between my fingers with the sharp report of a bullwhip.

  “And this is the next step, the potential to outweigh gold, shine brighter than silver, and move with the liquidity of an ocean.”

  Arkelai laughed.

  I blinked, shook my head, and tried to ignore the heat flushing my cheeks. I cleared my throat and replaced the note as Arkelai took another long pull on her home-rolled cigarette.

  “My father is very particular in his trusts, Master Kelstern. And very demanding of honesty, discretion, and a certain… mindset… when it comes to wealth. The better part of which walk hand-in-hand in very few individuals. When I say that your services and those of your fellows have been thoroughly evaluated, take it to mean that you aren’t at the top of the list. You’re its sole occupant. My father is not in the habit of taking ‘no’ for an answer. From anyone. You may consider for a time, but you will stand before my father soon.”

  It was not the first time a noble had attempted to strong-arm me into their service. I have had disastrous results with such in the past. Recently, Lord Brackwaldt, who against my best advice invested more than he could afford to lose and proceeded to blame me. In circumstances in which an embarrassed nobleman does not settle for the comfort of insurance, I have little recourse but to rely on the strength and rule of law to protect me. Laws, unfortunately, written by men like Lord Brackwaldt.

  The world is not always a fair place. Especially the world of finance.

  Chapter 4 – The Value of Ice

  By the time the carriage returned me to my office, the heat of the day and the spices of Arkelai�
��s smoke and perfume had conspired to soften my head. I found that I could not entirely remember departing the public dictate, nor what we discussed on the return trip, or even the precise point of Lady Arkelai’s departure from my company. Sweat trickled down between my shoulders, where it finally collected at the small of my back. And despite the expense of my jacket, I discovered that I had used it to mop my brow at least once. I lamented the stains on the elven embroidery upon the sleeve, but the damage was done.

  Somehow, I managed to stumble up the stone steps to the shade of my stoop, where Cas was now absent. Dahli had taken his place, and her eyes widened at the state of me.

  “Blessed Twins, Sailor,” she said. As far as religious epithets were concerned, it was only my current condition that allowed such blasphemies to go unchallenged. Dahli rushed me inside, past the floor where my junior partners labored over the latest reports of refined alchemical prices coming out of Whadaen ports and into the relative cool of my office. As I eased myself into the soft chair, my head began to clear. By the time Dahli dropped a terrycloth square and a frosted glass of clean water in front of me, I was lucid enough to eye the beads of condensation and the frozen lumps bobbing among them.

  “Ice, Dahli?” I asked. “I hardly think a little overheating warrants the expense of such a luxury. You know how I feel about buying ice in summer.”

  As temperatures rose, so did the market share of those Southern sorcerers whose sole business was providing frozen product to the parched southern coast of Varshon. Once the last of the snowmelt vanished from the mountains, spoilage and waste became a major issue in Borreos. Many nefarious diseases thrive in the heat and in foods not properly stored. It was a fear that drove the wealthy in Borreos to buy ice at any premium for safety, and the extremely wealthy to buy ice simply for the luxury. The current worth of the contents of my glass could invest in a dockhand’s full day of labor, which in turn could move my products where they might be sold at a profit. Whereas the ice in front of me represented a sunk cost. I felt the corners of my mouth turning down. I hated sunk costs.

  “Stuff it, Sailor. You looked about on death’s door. That girl must have done a turn on you. What happened?”

  The girl—Lady, rather, Lady Arkelai. Who seemed adamant that I would represent her father with or without my express consent.

  I will confess to savoring the ice water’s cooling relief before replying. Much (not all) of my trepidation at the expense vanished as the harsh bite of the water slid down my throat like the first breath of winter and I began to feel more and more myself once again. “Her father,” I finally sputtered between gulps, “is terrified of the bank notes. Terrified that his fortune is about to evaporate, and he has somehow decided that I should solve his problem.”

  Dahli perched on the corner of my desk, skirts lifting to reveal sandals studded with simple gemstones. “Does her father have a name?”

  “Alkazarian,” I said.

  Dahli’s head rolled back and she laughed. Her laughter was long and hard, and rightly so, I thought. She ran a hand through her coal-black hair as she composed herself. One last giggle rolling from deep within her breast up through her nose. It was an effort not to join her, but a man in my position cannot afford to laugh at those who can afford my services, even if I have declined to offer them. Such lords and ladies are easily slighted and often spiteful. I have a reputation, and my physical wellbeing, to consider.

  The reason for her mirth was the nature of the pseudonym Lady Arkelai had given me. Alkazarian was, simply put, a fictional epic. It was a poem of unknown age and origin about a knight who entered the service of a dragon and then tried to claim its wealth for himself. Some say it was older than humanity, and that the story itself was a metaphor for the Progenitors of mankind in their war against the dragons. In my opinion, those who believed such tales seemed to have a very loose understanding of the word fiction.

  There had never been such things as dragons, and very likely no such beings as the forebears that begat humans. In any case, Alkazarian had been the name of the dragon—the wealthiest of all dragons. At the end of the poem, the fiery beast ate the knight. Personally, I thought it was meant as a cautionary tale that commoners shouldn’t rise up against the landed gentry. To claim the title was brazen, arrogant, and something of poor taste. Even the grenndraki, whose outward appearance lent all credence to draconic origins, put little stock in fanciful tales of winged, fire-breathing beasts.

  Still, I remembered the words of Cas as we shared the moment before my departure. A dragon were sighted, he had insisted. I shook my head and then did allow a chuckle. Not at Lord Alkazarian, mind you, but at such a coincidence. Dragons do not often feature in the lives of bankers. Certainly not twice in one day. I finished my water, and lest the remaining ice go to waste, replaced it with something a bit stronger before joining the trade floor.

  Chapter 5 – Magic, of a Sort

  Once I had recovered what wits could be attributed to me, or if not wits, some semblance of self-sufficiency, I paid a visit to the main room of my office. A great deal of work awaited in the wake of Darrez Issa’s proclamation and the alchemist’s early visit, and much like a wizard’s sanctum, this was where the magic happened. Also much like a wizard’s sanctum, it was a circular room (I could not tell you precisely why wizards prefer circular rooms) of pristine cleanliness. It was well lit and contained an abundance of scrolls, ledgers, and tomes. And tables, several of them lined with sharp quills and sharper men to wield them. Around the perimeter of the room loomed eight towering slate tablets, each webbed with the cost of common goods, raw materials, luxury items, and alchemical components.

  Each slate corresponded physically with the current prices in that cardinal direction. For example, the northern wall of the room listed clockworks, marble, timber, and limestone from the Free City of Kaharas, where such things were produced in abundance and sent south. On the southwest side of the room, you could see the high demand for that timber plain as day in Whadael, a land where enlightenment was common but trees were sparse. And to the northeast, in the Gaeldoc Peninsula and eventually Grenn, the clockworks would fetch a healthy margin among the blacksmiths of the grenndraki. If you could get them past the hill tribes and down through the valleys to the coast. In some cases, it was safer to send them south to Borreos and then by barge along the eastern coasts to the peninsula. There was money to be made in either case, interests to be maintained in the contents of caravans and caravels alike, as well as loans offered to those willing to provide shipping but in need of a ship or gold to hire a crew. The slates were an arrangement of my own design and had become one of my favorite tools.

  Rather than arcane secrets, my ledgers and leather volumes outlined the various contracts, loans, and investments that made the Kelstern Merchant Banking House function. In truth, it was magic of a different sort. With a single misplaced decimal or careless smudge, entire fortunes could be made to disappear. Precision was paramount; mistakes, intolerable. After all, building fortunes was a much more onerous task than squandering them.

  Light from the round windows courting the central dome shifted as the hours passed. It waxed across elven silk tariffs in the southeast archipelagos and waned over the price of coffee at the Wizards Collegiate Arcanum, where late nights burned with mystery and many pots of the bitter brew. In the hours following my strange appointment with Lady Arkelai, I refocused my attention on the time-sensitive task of ensuring profitability for my impending ventures—most notably Jess the alchemist’s seemingly doomed voyage. I dispatched several industrious young runners with offers for alchemical instruments traveling south from Kaharas on the backs of wagons along the Waste roads, which were of particular interest to me. Primarily, I wanted them diverted to Lethorn to meet with the shipment of caustics I’d spent the early morning reviewing with Jess.

  Long after the light fled and candles were lit and burning down, Dahli watched idly from her station as I scrawled a final offer for treated flasks and caus
tics distillation equipment. One hand of the waiting runner accepted it, while the other covered the boy’s yawn. He could not have been more than twelve or thirteen years old. With a final penny in his pocket, he departed, and I looked at the starlight falling upon his bare back as he left. Once summer began its extraneous march on Borreos, even the night was no refuge from the oppressive heat. I cleaned my quill, stoppered the final bottle of ink for the night, and twisted to look at the main room of the banking house. It was empty, save for my secretary.

  “You’re pushing the stars, Sailor. Even for you,” she said. In truth, I had lost track of time, but much of this could not have waited.

  “Kaharas produces the finest glass in the world, Dahli, and the only glass appropriate for alchemical distillation and storage for components as harsh as these caustics. If Jess’ shipments of raw caustics reach their destination with no equipment to refine and safely contain them, they’ll quickly go inert before he can sell anything. But if there happens to be a surplus of high-quality treated glass? Well, then they might last long enough to meet increased demand for concentrated alchemical components from the wizard’s college come winter when the storms are at their worst and over-land transport is more attractive. Having a ready supply of them just north of Whadael to meet their needs should make a tidy sum.”

  “I’ve never understood your fascination with alchemists,” said Dahli. “Seeing as how you disapprove of witches and magic and all that.”

  I rose and stretched. It does ill for a body to sit as often and as long as I do. Making such vast quantities of money move from place to place ironically required extraordinary amounts of sitting still.