Lora of Two Worlds

At midday they reached the confluence of the Kendrick River and the canal. The water widened. There was a ferry here, but with General He aboard, the inspectors didn't dare board. They even saved the crossing fee.

Everyone grinned, as if they'd found five hundred gold florins. The boats moored along the embankment. The cook went ashore to build a fire.

This stretch of bank had no villages or farms. He pointed at the fields:

"Look, these fields weren't planted this year. The landowner said planting is a waste of seed."

"This is close to the river, good land. And it can't turn a profit?" Alvin didn't understand.

He smiled bitterly: "Think about whose land it's. If it were still in a farmer's hands, he'd plant it till he dropped. But the land's been mortgaged and can't be redeemed. The able-bodied have left. Only old men and women and children remain, how much can they plant?"

Leon's ears were on the conversation. His eyes were on Lora, who'd gone ashore.

Shawn and Keane were building the fire and fetching water. Lora was crouching in the grass, stripping dry stalks. She'd taken off her cap and seemed to be collecting something from the grass heads.

Roland saw too. Had his sister found food? He glanced at Leon. Leon was already moving, with Lyle, down the gangplank.

"My lady, what are you collecting?"

From a distance, no one could hear. Lyle reverted to the old form of address.

"Come help! It's these hard beads on the grass-tip seed heads." Lora was pleased to see help. "They're called grass beads. They ripened last autumn, some are still hanging on. I don't know how potent they're."

"They can cure illness?"

"Yes, they treat dampness-numbness from poor circulation. Joint pain, things like that. Worth trying."

Lyle grinned ear to ear: "My lord! What a coincidence! You could try them too!"

Lora smiled, pressed the cap-full of grass beads into his hands: "Pick more, not all of them are usable. We'll sort them at home. I'll tell you how to use them. I'm going to cook."

She'd heard from Roland that Leon's knee still spiked with pain. Could it be from poor circulation, sitting in the wheelchair so long?

Acupoint massage could help, but he couldn't hire a physician, and she couldn't very well go massage his legs. Then she'd spotted the grass beads in the field. They weren't fresh, she'd need to pick many and sort out the viable ones.

"So... my lord, the young lady picked these for you?" Lyle understood.

Watching Lora bounce toward Shawn and Keane, Leon turned back to the boat:

"Then hurry up and pick them."

Lora was using the iron plate again. She separated chicken legs and wings, added fatty pork and mutton, all pre-salted on the boat. Plenty.

He had said they'd overnight at Lyme, at the foot of Claymore Mount. Wild game was plentiful, if they were lucky, a hunter might sell venison or musk deer.

Well then, I'll use the current ingredients freely.

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Keane had a cook's gift. After watching Lora once, he could already work the iron plate himself.

The guards ate flatbread. Lora made pan-fried flatbread, softer than baked, chewier than steamed. She stuffed it with stir-fried pickled vegetables and minced pork. The pork's gaminess was masked by the fat and salt. The stuffed flatbread was a hit.

She cooked double the grain, half for now, half for evening fried grain. Cold grain fried better.

In daylight, the cooking was more visible. With Keane and Lora both working the iron plate, even von Klein and Linnie on the passenger boat got a taste of stir-fry and grilled meat.

Leon finally saw Lora's "pan", the iron fire-plate from under the boat's brazier. Nothing special.

How did ordinary things become extraordinary in her hands?

"Su, I have to ask. Can you spare this guardswoman? A girl this clever and handy shouldn't be wasted in a military camp. I'll take her home and make her a mistress. She'll want for nothing!"

"No deal. She's my father's pet. If she disappears, he'll bury us both on the spot." Roland said it with a straight face.

"General Odenheim? Then... I'll be a gentleman and not take what's prized."

If he couldn't have her, he'd eat as much as possible.

How had these two yokels smuggled their father's treasure out of the house? He couldn't figure it out.

After lunch, the boats moved again. The river wound through hills, sharp bends, fast currents. The boatman's skill showed.

Guards sat inside the cabin. Polemen on both sides listened tensely to the boatman's calls.

The stern boat's polemen were soldiers, but from the naval barracks. Handling a boat was basic training. With a man who knew the channel, they moved steadily.

But someone couldn't control her stomach. She hung over the gunwale, heaving. Shouldn't have eaten so much at lunch... Lora thought, teary-eyed.

Leon, worried she'd be thrown overboard by a wave, stood and took her sleeve. Lora, bleary, thought it was Roland. She leaned on his shoulder:

"Brother, I feel better now. Come with me."

Her cousin, knowing she'd mistaken him for someone else, felt an odd urge to laugh. He let her lean on him and guided her toward the cabin.

She'd found a low table somewhere, set near the cabin door. Inside, she realized she'd grabbed the wrong man. Her pale face flushed:

"Leon? I thought you were Roland..."

"No matter. Close enough. I'll go get him for you." Leon turned to leave. Lora caught his sleeve:

"Talking to you works too. I'll lie down while I explain."

Leon looked at her, then sat. She pulled several sheets of paper from under a grain sack and handed them over: "I was writing this when the seasickness hit. The writing made me dizzy. Listen, I'll tell you. If you forget, it's on the paper."

The paper read: Causes of and Remedies for the Coin Shortage in the Market.

Leon looked up. He studied this girl, at once familiar and strange:

Her features were gentle. Long lashes still held tiny tears. A mole under her eye, visible only up close. The tip of her nose turned up. Her philtrum was defined. A smile lingered at the corner of her mouth...

He shouldn't keep looking. He said softly:

"Go ahead. I'll remember."

"The crown has never taken a clear stance on private copper mining and private minting. Inconsistent standards mean people don't trust copper coins, they'd rather trade in grain and cloth. That's one.

In the seventy years since the old King's reign, the Empire hasn't opened new copper or iron mines, and output has fallen year by year. The crown sets the minting price at six pennies a coin. But the market price for copper goods is four hundred pennies. With copper output flat and the price gap that wide, who would mint coins instead of copperware? That's two.

Bribery and graft require huge sums of coin, and those coins get hoarded, not returned to circulation. That worsens the shortage. That's three.

And because everyone trades in goods but taxes must be paid in coin, anyone with coin hoards it. Regional price differences let merchants skim the spread.

So: Weybrook has no coin. The whole Empire has no coin. It's all piled up in places it shouldn't be, and none of it's in the market."

"So we need to reverse the flow?" Leon glanced at the remedies section. Four or five points. The first: Weybrook should put its hoarded gold and silver into circulation.

Lora shook her head: "The Empire isn't yours to run. And the marcher lords are fragmented, each region is different. Re-integrating them won't be easy. So it's not 'we.' It's 'Weybrook.'"

"You mean, Weybrook is practically an independent state. Small-scale change there won't threaten too many interests. So they can do it?"

"Yes."

"Good. I'll take it to them and discuss specifics."

"So... am I your strategist now?" Lora tilted her head, smiling.

"Backseat strategist."

They both snorted with laughter. As Leon rose to leave, Lora looked up:

"I thought you'd say no."

"If he succeeds, doesn't that give me more influence?"

"Mm. You're a man with a big heart. Now I'm starting to believe, you'll make new history."

No praise from anyone had ever meant as much as that single sincere sentence.

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