Searing 68, 122 Age of Steel
Returning home was always a heady experience, but in Anton's case it had been a trial far beyond his years - albeit not beyond his expectations. If anything, Zaichaer was doing better than he had dared hope, whatever miracle that had frozen the great rift surely saving countless thousands - if not millions - of lives from the further ravages of the Dread Mists. But it did not undo what was already done, and there would be no salvation for those already twisted and killed beyond that which the distant divines deigned grace the souls of the departed godless with.
The sight had finally cemented the reality of the situation to him, disabusing the young lord of any infantile notions that things could return to how they once were. Chaos and death were the norm now, not the finely honed order of the High City a mere month prior. Even if some force managed to take control of Zaichaer itself the hinterlands of the State were too distant to be protected by the scattered remnants of the Defense Corps. He could not simply return to Gel'Grandal and rest on his grandfather's riches, not with the risks to his lands still present.
No, he would defend that which his father had granted to him in trust. He had already started that work, weeks ago in an office in the Imperium with a supercilious OIR agent. If everything worked out according to plan, defending his estate would be more than a nice word or a childish ambition, but a concrete reality. However, part of ensuring that everything would go to plan required him to deal with some of the dullest work possible. Guns and ammunition did not pay for themselves, but an active and productive farming estate was almost always profitable. Even more so in the current chaos. With a little work, the land would pay for its own defense.
Unfortunately, there was a great deal of work to do.
"Go over it again, Heinrich," Anton said with a sigh, rubbing his temple. He was sitting in the simple office inside of his manor house at his estate, behind a stout oak desk. Sitting across from him was a bespectacled man with a thoughtful expression on his face, but his body did not match his academic's face. Heinrich had been the manager of the estate for years, since the death of his father, but that had always been a more practical matter, and he had the strong build and calloused hands of an experienced farmer.
"Of course, my lord," the musclebound man said, flipping the account books that were littered upon the top of the table to the opening again. "For the past twelve or so years, the estate has been running more or less on subsistence conditions-" he began, only to be cut off by Anton.
"Since the mill broke?" he asked, barely making the effort to pretend he was actually using his eyes to read over the books. If the Order of Reconciliation seemed like a going concern these days, he might be more cautious, but perhaps he would simply be seen as an eccentric for his bare glances at the actual text.
"Yes my lord, since the mill broke. We used to be able to sell wheat flour to the city in greater quantities, not to mention for more avens, but almost all the profit vanished when we had to ship the bushels unprocessed," Heinrich said, tracing the columns with a finger to show the man across from him the sudden drop in income from one year to the other. "With the granary we're at least able to store all of it, we don't have any fear of rotting, but it simply sells for less than flour."
"And no flour also means no point in a bakery," Anton murmured to himself, his plans for the estate's self sufficiency rapidly reevaluating. "Not to mention I don't think there's going to be much consistency in the normal markets," he added with a grim expression on his face. He fully intended to continue selling to Zaichaer, even if it meant eating a loss, if just because he had no idea how many other farms would still be feeding the city.
"What would you suggest, my lord?" Heinrich was no slouch, and had already learned to notice when the young man who owned the land he was responsible for was deep in thought. He had been in the employ of the Michaelis for his entire life, as his father had, going back generations untold. It had been a rather comfortable relationship for both parties, mostly because they almost never interacted with the other save when it came time to pay rents. Still, he could appreciate an idea from someone who seemed to actually have a brain between his ears.
"Keep sending barges down river, but we shouldn't expect Zaichaer alone to sustain us. What are the names of Cynthia's children again?" Anton asked, grabbing the book with the current year's records and scanning it with supernatural seeming speed, because it was, well, supernatural. The estate his father had gifted him produced more than mere wheat, and they could probably do something with the situation at hand. It was already high Searing, so they'd be stuck with what was already sown earlier in the year, but options were available.
"Jacob and Laura, my lord," Heinrich asked, somewhat confused at this line of questioning. Cynthia was the smith for the estate and surrounding countryside, but her children hadn't picked up her trade. She had been married to the chief herdsman, a dashing former Defense Corps cavalryman and seasoned hunter who had died of a sudden illness a few seasons ago. Their children had instead followed in his footsteps, or rather, hoofsteps, having taken well to the saddle - and then it hit him. "Ah, of course my lord," he said, already jotting down a note.
"Quite. Have them ride out to the surrounding villages and towns, let's make an inventory of what we have in the region," Anton said in his typical clipped voice when his thoughts were moving faster than his mouth. He had restrained himself from using the word census, but those were for rulers after all, and he wasn't one of those. Yet. "We can sell in kind with the mines and millers to make up for what we lack, wine for the former and the normal cut of flour to the latter. It's a bit of a risk sending them both, but if they're quick, which I know they are, they should be back before the herds can get in too much trouble with just the fieldmen."
"Very good, my lord. I shall see to it immediately," Heinrich said, standing to leave, before a raised hand from Anton caused him to freeze, half out of his chair. "My lord?"
"Business in the Imperium may keep me away for some time before we can meet again, I want to be as thorough as possible before I leave with Vanessa for Gel'Grandal," Anton explained, the larger man slowly sitting himself back into his chair, Heinrich looking at his landlord with a thoughtful expression. "I want Nicholas to set aside a portion of the grape harvest each year for vinegar instead of wine going forward. We cannot expect to be able to purchase our needed supply in Zaichaer anymore, nor can we rely on the Every Waking Moment always being at hand."
Nicholas was the local vintner, and Heinrich nodded in understanding at that command as well, but before he could so much as open his mouth Anton continued on.
Considering the situation at hand, with supply lines broken and the future uncertain, Anton tapped slowly at a particular line item in the ledger book. "Renault needs to stop selling timber boards down river. Have him stockpile them instead, and work them as required for the others, and for trade with the other towns. A man will pay dearly for a bed frame to the only carpenter who can actually deliver it to him." Renault was not a particularly good carpenter it must be said, but the rest of Anton's point rang true. "Victoria may continue on as normal," he added after a moment's thought, the unofficial leader of the estate's fishers providing the only source of protein when an animal from the herd wasn't slaughtered and game was scarce.
And game had been scarce ever since the 34th. It was that as much as anything else which had resolved Anton to send both of Cynthia's children out to secure potential trade partnerships with the other inhabitants of the river delta. Even now, weeks later, the animals had not returned to their typical regions, the fear of the gods having been put into them by the shattering of the twin rifts miles to the north. Fish, however, were both stupider and had fewer places to go.
"In case I'm not here next year however... If we can't get a mill up and running, we'll have to change the crop distribution instead. Prioritize buckwheat as much as possible, then barley and lentils, then almost everything else, and only then wheat. Without milled flour it's worth less than most else on the market. Ignore all of that if the situation gets worse and you can't trade though and focus instead on what's easiest to make into food. No point in having avens with nowhere to spend them," Anton said with a slow nod, having said almost all that he intended to say. Almost.
"One more thing before you go though. While I'm gone, draw up a list of every man you trust with either courage or experience with a gun."