She’d actually drawn out a plan for a chess board–eight by eight, instead of the nine by nine squares used by kingmaker–and listed the rules for Imaiqah, who had pointed out that they weren’t very realistic. Real life noted that queens were always weaker than kings, even when the Queen ruled in her own right. And if one king happened to die, there was always another king waiting in the wings, unless he’d died first. Emily had countered by pointing out that in chess the rules didn’t seem to change depending on the exact position of the pieces at any one time. And two pieces couldn’t occupy the same space.
“Blast,” she said, ruefully. The servant she’d designated as her crown prince was too close to Imaiqah’s lines for comfort. But she couldn’t conceal him any longer. Shaking her head, she removed the servant piece from the board and replaced it with the taken king. “I think you’re going to win, again.”
Imaiqah moved her castle and checked the new king. “Maybe not,” she said, seriously. “Your sergeant can cover him.”
Emily snorted. A king in chess, only able to move one square per turn, couldn’t easily escape a trap without support from other pieces. In kingmaker, a king could go anywhere as long as he didn’t cross a threatened line or took another piece, unless it was on the square next to him. The game was supposed to be more realistic, but it lacked the beautiful simplicity of chess.
She moved the sergeant, hoping that it wouldn’t expose her queen too badly. “I think we should go back to the spellcasting chamber. You need to work on your charms.”
Imaiqah nodded. They’d spent at least an hour a day for the last week practicing casting spells, both offensive practical jokes–in both senses of the word–and shielding charms. Alassa wasn’t the only bully out there, it seemed, and they had to be ready for trouble. Imaiqah seemed to be gaining confidence as she mastered new spells, thankfully.
But Emily still needed Imaiqah’s help and advice. Her potions rarely seemed to work properly, even potions Thande called easy and straightforward.
“There,” Imaiqah said, moving her own sergeant. “Your King is Mine.”
Emily looked at the board and swallowed a curse. She’d moved one piece, only to expose her king to another angle of attack. And this one not only threatened the king, but made it impossible to retreat. She looked for options–one game of chess she’d played had been lost because she hadn’t thought to check when her opponent declared checkmate–but saw nothing. There was no way to shield her king or take the attacking piece.
“Congratulations,” she said, lifting her king and tapping his head against the board. “Maybe you should teach this game to Alassa.”
“I think she already knows it,” Imaiqah said seriously. “It is a very good representation of her life.”
They shared a chuckle, then Imaiqah reached into her bag and produced a small chest, barely larger than one of the magical tomes they’d been studying in the library. “My father sent you this,” she said, as she pressed her finger against the latch. There was a brief flash of mana and the chest unlocked. “It came through the Portal this morning and I didn’t want to open it in front of everyone.”
Emily nodded. Student mail was handed out in the dining hall, but most of the students seemed to put mail aside to open up later. Apparently, some of the mail was charmed to prevent strangers from forcing their way inside and reading it before the intended recipient and some of those charms were owned by specific families. But she would have been surprised to learn that Imaiqah’s family had a charm of their own. As far as Emily knew, Imaiqah was the first magician in her bloodline.
“Here,” Imaiqah said. “The warlock my father hired didn’t know your karmic signature, so he used mine.”
The chest was surprisingly heavy, but the lid opened easily. Inside ... Emily felt her eyes widen in shock. There was a small pile of glittering gold and silver coins, as well as a letter addressed to Imaiqah. Emily passed her friend the letter and touched the coins, unable to believe that they were quite real. If they were real gold and silver, she was holding more money in her hand than her family had ever enjoyed back home.
“He’s been selling the idea of your new numbers and double-entry bookkeeping to everyone in the city,” Imaiqah said, reading the letter. “Apparently, he swore them to silence about the exact details, but they were allowed to tell everyone else just how great an idea the new numbers were. And that’s your share of the profits.”
Emily couldn’t believe her eyes. “And how much is the gold actually worth?”
Imaiqah looked puzzled. “It’s worth its weight, of course,” she said. “What do you mean?”
Not for the first time, Emily found herself wishing that she knew more about economics. She had a faint idea that gold backed modern currencies, and at one time those currencies had been pegged to the gold standard, but she wasn’t sure what the gold standard actually was. Gold had once been useless, at least in a practical sense; it couldn’t actually be destroyed. Or so she thought. Golden jewelry could be melted down to pay for goods and services, if necessary.
But gold might not buy everything. What good was a sack of gold on a desert island? Gold could only be used to buy items and services if those items were available. In one sense, it acted as a middleman between buyer and seller, rather than forcing them to bargain.
But ... she shook her head, confused. Like most subjects, economics seemed very simple until you tried to actually work out what it meant, let alone how to apply the lessons in real life. And half of what she knew about economics was just guesswork.
She picked up two of the coins and looked at them. They were stamped with a head that, she suspected, represented Alassa’s father, but they were clearly not the same size and weight. She poked through the chest in puzzlement, looking at different coins. Whoever had stamped them out hadn’t even bothered to try to get them to match. One was large enough to cover her palm, another was barely larger than a fingernail.
“That’s why they weigh gold in the shops,” Imaiqah said, taking pity on her. Emily was still trying to come to grips with the concept of two gold coins being worth vastly different values. Back home, money had been standardized by the government. “If the coin was too much, they’d either give you silver or clip off what they wanted from the original coin.”
“It doesn’t sound very precise,” Emily said, doubtfully.
“It isn’t,” Imaiqah agreed. “And you won’t believe what banks charge to reshape gold clippings into new coins. Or what punishments are handed out to people who try to make new coins out of tiny clips.”
Imaiqah smiled suddenly as she kept reading the letter. “Father has managed to convince a pair of tailors to make your bras,” she said, stumbling over the unfamiliar word. “He intends to see how well they sell before trying to sell the idea itself; he wonders if I can ask the Princess for Royal Patronage, something that would make it harder for others to copy the idea ... “
Emily stared at her, and then started to laugh. “Alassa! He expects you to ask her for Patronage?”
“It’s the way the world works,” Imaiqah said. “Banks won’t loan money to father to help him expand without a powerful supporter in the background. And who better than the King’s daughter?”
“Right,” Emily said, doubtfully. She’d met Alassa. Emily had the private suspicion that Alassa wouldn’t be able to hand out patronage on a whim, even if there were few other restraints on her behavior. If gold was the only metal of value, there would only be a certain amount of gold available to back investments. “Why don’t the banks see his past success and gamble on him producing more money in the future?”
A thought struck Emily and she scowled. “Unless you have to be rich to actually put money in the bank, right?”
Imaiqah nodded.
Emily rolled her eyes. “Why am I not surprised?”
Smart banks, back home, knew better than to try to charge their customers to use their services. Their customers weren’t just placing money in the bank; they w
ere effectively loaning it to the bank, allowing the bank to use it to make other loans. A bank that charged customers for every little service–even something as simple as withdrawing money from an automated cash dispenser–would rapidly lose business. Here, she suspected, customers were charged for putting money in the bank, let alone everything else.
Suppose your total weekly earnings were ten silver coins, she considered. You should put it in the bank, behind solid doors and powerful wards, but the bank charged you one silver coin for each deposit and another silver coin for withdrawals. A smart merchant wouldn’t give away money like that; he’d keep it under the bed, protected by whatever spells he could convince a wizard to make for him. As a result, there would be nothing fuelling economic growth.
“What a mess,” she muttered. Coming to think of it, surely someone must have thought of opening up an investment bank. But didn’t that require impartial laws? “What are you going to tell him?”
“Father always taught me never to promise something I couldn’t provide,” Imaiqah admitted. “I can try, but ... Alassa isn’t going to do something for me, so I’ll just have to suggest that he either approaches the King directly or abandons the idea of Royal Patronage. But approaching the King will be expensive.”
Emily frowned. “You have to pay to see the King?”
Imaiqah shook her head. “You need an audience with His Majesty, so you approach the Royal Chamberlain or one of his flunkies. The King is supposed to see all comers, but the Royal Chamberlain is the one who determines who gets to go in before the King gets bored. So you have to cover his palm with silver to get him to let you in early, yet”–she shook her head again–“if someone with more money or higher status arrives after you, you might not be allowed to see the King at all.”
“Typical corrupt politician,” Emily said dryly. “He doesn’t even stay bribed.”
“And then the King’s advisors might have something to say about your plea,” Imaiqah added. “They might want a bribe themselves, or a share in the profits. Your competitors might have bribed them to try to prevent you from gaining patronage, or the guilds might think that you’re trespassing on their territory, or ...”
“I see,” Emily said. It was a wonder that anything got done, even in a relatively small Kingdom in the Allied Lands, though that rulers had absolute power. Maybe she should introduce the idea of democracy instead ... except it would probably lead to civil war, after which the necromancers would happily march in once the Allied Lands had finished tearing themselves apart. “Maybe he should just start selling them, knowing that they will be copied. At least the Royal Court won’t be making a profit.”
“Taxes,” Imaiqah reminded her. “Another good reason not to put money in the bank. And if they think you’re profitable enough to be interesting, they might try to muscle their way into your shop.”
Emily closed the chest, thinking hard. She had a chunk of money now, and Void had given her some more, and there were other ways to make profits in the future. Once she had enough money, she could open a bank herself, maybe somewhere where the aristocrats would have difficulty seizing the money. Or maybe ...
She’d left her purse with Void, because it was useless. Her debit card wouldn’t be anything more than a curiosity to the locals, but what if she could duplicate the basic idea behind the card? It was simple, apparently, to link two mirrors together in an unbreakable manner and use them as ... well, cell phones. One could be linked to a bank, which would verify that the carrier had fifty gold coins in their account and issue a promissory note to pay the seller when they or a designated representative visited the bank. She’d have to set up a helpdesk for her customers, maybe staffed at all hours. Who knew when someone would call? Maybe the mirrors could be keyed to only work for one person. She scribbled that idea down so she wouldn’t forget it, reminding herself to look into how the city-states operated. They might be more tolerant of an investment bank than any of the monarchies.
“And now I am rich,” she said, looking at the money. “What should I do with it?”
“Father says that if anyone asks, I should tell her to go purchase something at his store,” Imaiqah said. They shared a laugh. “More seriously, you either need to place it in storage here or purchase your own treasure chest. That one is keyed to me, not to you. Storage is safer, but if you place it there Madame Razz will be able to monitor what you do with it.”
Emily scowled. Madame Razz seemed to strike her as exactly the wrong sort of person to know what Emily was doing at any given time. They’d barely talked since Emily had entered the school, but Emily could sense Madame Razz’s looming presence–and disapproval–every time she walked into the dorm. Emily had even heard her giving an angry lecture to a first-year girl who had apparently forgotten items she was meant to bring from home, a lecture that had reduced the younger girl to tears.
“Another good reason to create a proper bank,” Emily said to herself. Parents and teachers never seemed to learn that kids kept things to themselves if the school refused to keep their secrets. A bank that didn’t ask questions might earn vast profits through silence. “But if I lose the money, I don’t get it back.”
“Of course not,” Imaiqah said. “You’d only get it repaid if it went into storage and you lost it anyway.”
Imaiqah frowned. “Ask Aloha to put in her chest until after the visit to Dragon’s Den,” she suggested. “She’ll probably try to charge you a gold coin for the service, but she won’t try to steal any of the money. Or we can seal that chest before you give it to her. When you’re in the city, buy a proper chest from a reputable Enchanter and have it delivered to the school. It can be a good thing to have a chest that no one, not even a tutor, can open without destroying the contents.”
Emily blinked. “You mean they look inside our cupboards?”
“I wouldn’t be too surprised if they did,” Imaiqah said darkly. “Do you know how many dangerous alchemical ingredients we’re not supposed to bring into the school?”
“No,” Emily admitted.
“Dragon’s Blood is the prime example; it’s so hugely magical that you can break through almost any ward by applying it properly,” Imaiqah said. “You barely need to prepare it at all, according to Professor Thande. Or there’s venom from a Basilisk, eyes from a Cockatrice ... apparently, there’s a function for Centaur’s blood that Thande told us we weren’t supposed to know until we graduated. Anyone who is caught with any of those ingredients can be expelled. They’re that dangerous.”
“Oh,” Emily said. There was a pause. “They can’t force you to open your chest?”
Imaiqah looked shocked. “Of course not. You can’t open a magician’s chest without their permission. Outside Whitehall, only an idiot or someone tired of life would try to break into a magician’s house. The magician could do anything to them and no one would dare complain. It’s one of the fundamental rules of magic!”
Emily looked down at the board and suspected that she knew why. “No one’s told me when we’re going to Dragon’s Den,” she said, changing the subject. “When are we going?”
“Two weeks, I think,” Imaiqah said. “It’s not a right, so if you manage to get in trouble–again–you probably won’t be allowed to go. I’ve heard that some students have begged to be caned rather than denied the chance to get out of the school for a few hours.”
“Oh,” Emily said. “And what does the Warden say?”
“Tells them not to waste his time,” Imaiqah said. She chuckled. “Perhaps they should pretend that they don’t care about going.”
Emily wasn’t sure if she cared. She wouldn’t have cared back home, but here ... she’d seen almost nothing of life, apart from Void’s tower, Whitehall and ruined cities. It would be nice to see how ordinary people lived. Perhaps it would give her more ideas for things that could be introduced from her world.
“Ask your father about stirrups,” Emily said, finally. She’d confirmed that they didn’t exist in this world, which wasn�
�t too surprising. The Persians who had fought the Roman Empire had relied on their horsemen, but they had never invented stirrups either. “Maybe he can offer them to the Kingdom’s army. That should earn him some patronage.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
THE AIR NEAR DRAGON’S DEN SMELLED...ODD.
Emily stuck her head out of the carriage window and peered out as they drove down the slope towards the city. Dragon’s Den was situated in the middle of a large valley, surrounded by a handful of farms concealed and protected by the vast mountains that also protected Whitehall from the necromancers. The farms didn’t seem large enough to feed an entire city, but if they had portals, she reasoned, they could bring in food from anywhere else if necessary. She sniffed the air and winced as she realized that the city–more like a large town, by her world’s standards–didn’t have anything reassembling proper sanitation, not like Whitehall. The population must be living in squalor.
The horse-drawn carriages shuddered as they crossed a bridge and headed towards a giant stone dragon placed in front of the town, looking north. It was remarkably lifelike, so lifelike that she couldn’t help wondering if it was a real dragon that had been turned to stone by a medusa like Snake Face. Up close, the dragon was ugly as sin, but there was a certain nobility about it that held her gaze. She wanted to see if she could cast a spell to release it from petrification, if it was a real dragon, yet what sort of spell would work on it?
The carriages rumbled past the statue and towards the walls surrounding the city. Ahead of them, the gates were slowly starting to open.
Emily’s eyes opened wide as the carriages advanced through the gate–through a section that was obviously intended to trap anyone trying to storm the city–and into the city itself. It was small, but intensely populated, with massive buildings piled on top of other buildings which provided enough living space for thousands of people. The buildings looked vaguely Roman, reminding her of artwork she’d seen in comics about an indomitable Gaul. Many of them had a statue placed in front of the entrances - all human. They couldn’t all be petrified humans, could they?
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