69. Demand (Patreon)

Author note: Heya, I'm back! Enjoy the chapter! Also, sorry no sussy business for chapter 69, only business.

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“I want you to come with me to Asina and see the Sultanah.” The emir’s words reverberated in the scribe’s mind.

Aloe could have protested, but she didn’t. Not only she was already in a shaky position after having fired that assistant, but what Rani had said wasn’t a petition, but an order. It also wasn’t as if she had much time to protest because as soon as she dropped that statement, the emir made her way out of the office.

“So she said that?” Tamara commented with a pistachio on her fingertips. “Hassan and she were always coming up and down to Asina – if not one, the other – so it doesn’t surprise me that she needs to come back in a month, but this is the first time I’ve seen a sultanzade bring a companion to the capital. Oh well, it’s not the end of the world.”

“Is it not?” Aloe’s visage was meddled with doubt, she resisted the urge to crease the parchment in her hands. “It’s Asina’s palace that we are talking about. A true den of debauchery!” She barely held her voice from trembling.

“Sure, a lot of horny sultanzade and, of course, Her Majesty, but it’s not like they fuck the first person they see.” The scribe of commerce rolled her eyes and continued reading the documents. “I’m more worried about Sadina. The city will default to Naila’s reign for a week or so, and that girl is inconsistent at best.”

“Can we worry about me and not the city?”

Tamara frowned. “Girl, I understand you are fidgety, but I’ve been to Asina before, and no one laid a finger on me.”

Aloe frowned back at her. “And when did you go exactly?”

“Fair point.” The old woman closed her eyes and shrugged. “A few decades ago, but by that time I was already married and had children. Those with imperial blood prefer people more... untouched.”

The scribe of commoners shivered, hugging her body searching for warmth even though the daylight was strong enough to fry an egg.

“You are not helping!”

“Sorry, sorry.” Tamara let the parchment away and giggled. “You are just so teasable. I guess that’s one of the reasons Rani wanted you. She certainly owed one or two to Shahrazad to recruit or at least not leave you emptyhanded, but that certainly helps.”

Aloe would have inquired about the relationship between the scribes in general, not only between Tamara and her mother, but she was currently scared shitless at the prospect of going to Asina.

“I still don’t understand why you are this scared.” Tamara implied with a tone indicating that she should be somewhat scared.

“Have you heard the snake tongues?”

“Ha!” The old scribe slapped her thigh. “The snake tongues, really? Pure rumors, people never tell the truth, or they warp it as much as the snickering of a snake. There’s a reason why we call them snake tongues.”

“When there’s this many words out there, I no longer can believe it’s just nonsensical gossip,” Aloe explained with a wry smile.

“Shh, child.” Tamara stood up from her office armchair and walked next to Aloe, then she patted her head. “You don’t have to worry about the sultanzade, in a way, you are under the protection of one. And besides, if you have to worry about someone, that’s Rani herself. Though I doubt she will do anything to you, up to my knowledge, she hasn’t done anything to a scribe.”

Aloe had never had a grandmother; one she could remember at least. Her father wasn’t from Sadina but another emirate, and she had never met his family. Not that she could contact them anymore. So that only left one possible grandmother, her mother’s mother, but she had died before she could form a memory of her. Her memory was hazy, but she was already born, though just young enough to not remember. All of this was to say that Tamara’s touch felt grandmotherly-like. Whatever that may mean.

She removed her wrinkled hand from her head.

“A pat on the back would have been enough.” No matter how much she enjoyed it, Aloe still had a pride to protect, a weakness to avoid showing. And it was becoming smaller and smaller by the day, making the last traces ever-so-precious to her.

Tamara didn’t answer, simply deciding to dedicate her a snicker.

“Well, it seems you are recovered enough.” She walked back to her armchair. “Shall we get back to business, girl?”

“Wait,” Aloe put the papers from the scribe business aside for a moment. “Talking about business, what about the ink proposal I offered you? Have you gotten any news?”

“You still want to go ahead with that?” Tamara frowned. “Even after becoming the scribe of commoners, one of the most prestigious positions of the city and the whole emirate?”

Both of them knew that wasn’t the truth as the scribe of commoners was the least wanted of the five personal scribe positions. The most overworked and the least paying one. Prestigious? Perchance. Glamorous? Not a chance.

“Well, what better than a scribe to deal with inks?” Aloe added smugly.

“Can’t argue against that logic.” The scribe of commerce cackled. “But I must disappoint with bad news.”

“Why doesn’t surprise me?” Aloe deflated but didn’t protest beyond that.

“My contact, which is another scribe, has told me that after running several rigorous tests, the ink is just not that good. It dries fast, and that’s nice, but for any non-casual writer – which fair, you stated you wanted to sell the ink to commoners – is rather useless. The strain that is caused by writing is bad. And I’m not just talking about the hand, but also the feather.”

“Wait, are you saying I got denied because of feathers?”

Tamara scoffed. “It’s obvious that you haven’t been a scribe for long. Some scribes out there that value their feathers more than their lives.”

Aloe squinted at her; the claim was far too dramatic to be taken seriously.

“I’m being serious.” The old woman raised her hands defensively. “You haven’t seen what some people get. I have seen feathers more expensive than ships and houses.”

“What do they put in there, gems?”

“Between other things? Totally.” Tamara admitted. “There’s also a liking to gold. You know, if you have money, you will end up putting gold on everything. Just look at our dear sultanzade with all their jewelry. All of their trinkets are pure gold.”

The scribe of commoners sighed; the sheer display of wealth wasn’t beyond her. The thing with sultanzade was that they were so radiant and loud that the gold in their person was outshined.

“This needs to be mentioned,” Tamara grabbed a balance that was on the desk. “I do think cheap ink would be valuable for a greater scope market, but the quantities you can produce are just not enough.” She put a silver coin on one of the scales, and ten copper ones on the other one. “There’s demand, like these ten drupnar. But the offer is scarce, like the single drupnari. Now, a merchant would tell you that’s good. This means you can inflate the price at your command. But you don’t want to do that.”

“Because I want to sell to the masses.”

“Exactly.” Tamara dropped another drupnari on the lighter scale. “So making the price higher would be counterproductive as less commoners would be able to afford it. The more people you are able to sell, the more you will win, but also, the more people you will be able to sell to.” Aloe frowned at the repetition of words. “No, I have not grown senile. Not yet.” The scribe read her expression easily. “I’m talking about publicity. If you want everyone to buy it, then do it. But the best way to do it is with people talking about the product. The more ink there’s on the street, the more people will know about it.”

“And then the more people will buy it.”

The scribe of commerce smiled at her. “But there’s one obvious problem that I have already stated.”

“Offer,” Aloe muttered with an exhalation. “There’s no way I could provide enough ink for Sadina, let alone other cities.”

“And selling three pots won’t be enough. That’s why no one goes to the market of masses, Aloe. Production is often handicapped at the hands of the artisans. Everything must be local, and a manufacturer can only produce one piece at a time. I believe there will be a future where commerce will not be limited by the output of the artisan and the trader but by the demand of the market. How many people can I get my limitless product to?”

Aloe thought she was greedy, and she was, but as she heard Tamara talk, the cunningness of her voice was obvious. This was a master merchant at work.

“So what you are saying is that there’s no future for my fast-dry ink business.”

“Not quite,” Tamara smirked. “There’s another option.”

“By all means, do tell.” Aloe shrugged, she didn’t have much hope left, so why not trample on it entirely?

The merchant picked up a few more drupnars and then dropped all of them with all the other copper coins, overflowing the scale with the quantity.

“Easy, I’ll buy you the recipe.”