Days passed since Ezra's establishment of the Press Office. He had been planting seeds for the standardization of units, patent systems, and base zero notation. He had bigger and more impactful things he had in mind, but he needed to establish the foundations first.
Getting the Press Office was one thing, but managing it was another.
Ezra learned that on the third day managing the press.
They looked at the press bar and wanted to pull it.
Ezra frowned.
"No," Ezra said.
Extos blinked. "My lord?"
"They don't need to pull the bar," Ezra said. "They don't ink rollers. That work is repeat work."
Extos hesitated. "Then who will run it."
"There are castle servants," Ezra said, and pointed toward the corridor. "Get some of them for me."
Ezra waited and a few hands arrived.
The scribes exchanged a look.
Delmon asked "My lord aren't we supposed to help with the press."
"You are. Just not with this, not now. Your job is to arrange the letters for the stencils, based on the written requests."
Reitz entered as this was happening.
He took in the scene in one glance—scribes by the press, Ezra frowning, Extos halfway between them.
"What is this," Reitz asked.
Extos bowed. "My lord, I brought some castle servants to operate the press."
Ezra answered before Extos could continue.
"It's menial," Ezra said. "Pulling a bar and rolling ink does not need a trained hand. I need these men doing something else. Right now they do can do the assembly for the resin stencils, but pulling doesn't really need a scribe's knowledge."
Reitz's mouth twitched into something that read confusion. "What else."
Ezra didn't look away. "Reading," he said. "Arithmetic first. Then the basic natural philosophy texts. Then instruction copies I'm pressing."
Reitz's brow tightened. "Reading for what."
"So I can use them later," Ezra said. "It's a project I am working on."
Hugo swallowed, like he didn't know whether to be insulted or relieved.
Reitz stood still for a beat.
"Scribes are vetted," Reitz said. "Servants are not. I can't give new servants for this, not to the castle and certainly not inside the Press Office."
"I'm not bringing in new faces," Ezra said. "Just use the castle servants we have. People we already trust. We keep the punch bed locked. Servants can press so the scribes can learn."
Reitz's eyes stayed on Ezra longer than usual.
Then he looked at Extos.
"There won't be any new hires for the castle," Reitz repeated for emphasis. "Not until I say. Use household hands only. Keep a roster. Keep a log. If someone enters, it's written."
Ezra nodded.
Reitz looked back at the scribes then turned to Ezra.
"We need hands for the press, you promised me that you would oversee this," he said, "you tell me if we need more scribes before it becomes a problem."
Ezra nodded once. "I will,"
Reitz left.
Extos waited until the door shut, then exhaled.
Ezra looked at the press bar, then at the scribes.
"You're not being punished," Ezra said. "You're being repurposed."
Hugo hesitated. "For what milord?"
Ezra nodded. "It's a secret for now," he said. "Just focus on your progress with the Fundamentals of Arithmetic."
Every day there was more.
It started with real needs. Forms for Works. Rosters for Peace. Clean copies for Rolls. Ledgers for Coin. The kind of paper that made offices move faster.
Then it became everything.
A clerk would come in with a request for a stencil so he could stamp the same phrase on a dozen warrants. Then another would come because he didn't want to rewrite the same receipt line. Then someone from Household wanted a pressed kitchen inventory because the cooks kept "losing" sacks on paper.
Extos kept taking them.
He kept a stack of requests on his table—thin sheets, each with a seal mark, each with a signature line. Extos watched the pile grow and felt the press start to choke. Then he started complaining to Ezra.
By the end of the week, Kestel had sent three petitions in one day, each one worded like a writ. Corvin sent a list of account headers and demanded uniform spacing. Draffen sent measurement tables for stone and timber. Ashen sent custody logs and arrest forms, all of them stamped urgent.
Ezra brought it up to Reitz, the resin supplies and the ink was dwindling. They couldn't not keep up with the requests. In the end Reitz decided to meet the with whole council to settle the whole matter altogether.
He stood behind the table and looked down at the papers.
Kestel spoke first, as if procedure gave him the right.
"These must be enrolled," he said. "If they are pressed, they must be consistent. If they are consistent, they will be defensible."
Corvin didn't argue the point. He just added.
"And if the ledgers are pressed, I can audit faster," he said. "I can find leakage before it becomes a story."
Draffen's voice came after, flat.
"If Works has to rewrite the same requisition forms every day, we waste labor," he said. "I need standardized issue sheets."
Ashen's contribution was shorter.
"Custody logs," he said. "Chain of hands. Names. Times. If the paper is uniform, the excuses shrink."
They all looked at Extos.
Reitz tapped the top request with one finger. Then the next. Then the next.
"How many resin-stencils this week?"
No one spoke. Reitz grabbed the report set up.
Reitz didn't react to the number. He reacted to what it meant.
"I thought this would free hands," Reitz furrowed his brows. "Maesters, we shouldn't drown the press in nonsense."
Kestel's eyes narrowed at the word nonsense, but he didn't interrupt.
Reitz made the decision the way he made patrol decisions. Fast. Final.
"Priority," Reitz said.
He pointed at Kestel first.
"Rolls," he said. "Because Law and enrollment come first. If the paper isn't defensible, it isn't worth pressing."
Then he turned to Corvin.
"Coin is next," Reitz said. "Because coin pays the rest and coin is where thieves live."
Then Draffen.
"After will be Works," Reitz said. "Because if Works stops, the castle stops."
Then Ashen.
"Peace," Reitz said. "Because Peace needs forms that survive questions."
"And Instruction," Reitz said. "is last because it can wait a week without a roof falling in."
"We will keep a queue," he said. "Stamped. Dated. If it isn't sealed, it doesn't enter. If it is sealed, it waits its turn."
Reitz added, "And if anyone tries to jump the queue, they explain it to me. This will be the end? Got it?"
No one smiled. But everyone nodded.
The pile stopped growing quite as fast after that.
Not one to be upped by Kestel, Corvin actually visited Ezra's office personally.
"Lord Ezra," Corvin greeted him and bowed.
"Maester Corvin," Ezra turned to thim and returned the greeting. He was sitting on a chair reading something.
"About the supply of the the resin-cast, can the office of the Master of the Coin, be of service? I think I can talk to your father if the problem is coin. I believe we can find some projects we can cut back on?" Corvin said, smiling amicably.
"It's more of a supply chain issue, than anything."
Corvin scrunched his brows; Ezra spoke in perfect Imperial Common. The problem was the way Ezra put the sentence together.
"You mean how we source our material," Corvin asked. He was thinking it was childish babble, similar to how children would make up words.
"What I mean is the steps that have to happen, in order, before you get the final product. Take soap. You need ash and you need olive oil. Ash means wood burned and leached. Olive oil means tree to olive to press to oil. Then oil and lye become soap. Do you get it?" Ezra let that sit.
Corvin pondered for a bit. He understood the concept; they just didn't have a term that fit for it cleanly. When Ezra was speaking, he had heard colloquialisms that no Imperial would use; however, they did make sense. He just accepted it as childish coinages.
After a while, he nodded.
"We still need to set up more workers and have more things for the workshop to be able to work with. I've asked Father about this and Ser Galwell gave him the report on how much coin we are spending; he said he could part with it, for now it is under "ancillary expenses" but we will fully The problems with the stencil will be solved in a few days."
Corvin had talked to Ezra many times the past few days, and everytime there were always things that the child said that would make him think. When the third time he came to talk to Ezra one on one, he just shut off everything and made himself accept the situation. It taxed his mind less, but there were times that he couldn't help himself; this was one of those times.
"You know how we account our coin?"
Ezra nodded. "I have some understanding."
Ezra looked up from his chair.
"You keep books by charge and discharge," he said. "You don't just count coin—you assign it."
Ezra said, gesturing.
"A man is charged with what comes into his hands. Rents. Tariffs. Fines. An allotment from your chest. You write the sum, the day, the source, and whose seal made it lawful. After that, he carries responsibility, not just silver."
He lifted a finger.
"He discharges himself only with proof and then a warrant for the spending. After it a receipt for the payment finally a roll of wages with marks. If he cannot show the proof, the coin is still on his neck, even if his pouch is empty."
Another finger.
"At audit, you add the charges, add the discharges, and what remains must be in the chest. If it isn't, the book names who owes it."
Corvin's eyes stayed on him, still and sharp.
"That is the gist," Ezra said. "It's good. It survives questions because it's about responsibility."
Corvin's mouth tightened slightly. "And?"
Ezra turned the book he'd been reading just enough so that Corvin could see the page. It was one of the Press Office issue ledger sheets. It had neat lines and consistent spacing. The kind of clean writing that looked like it belonged to a machine; this was pressed, obviously.
"You only see the lie when you call the audit," Ezra said. "Between audits, a person can hide in confusion. He can move coin from one hand to another and call it 'transfer.' He can lose time. He can lose pages."
He tapped the paper twice.
"This is how we do it in the Press Office," Ezra said. "Every movement is written twice, at the same moment."
Corvin's brow creased.
"It isn't a copy," Ezra said. "but both are differently defined."
He drew a short line with his finger, as if pointing along a path.
"One line says where the coin left. The other one line says where it arrived. If you pay a mason, the chest is lighter and the work is bought. If you move coin to Works, then Coin is down and Works is up. If one half is missing, the other half is theft with ink on it."
Corvin's eyes dropped to the page.
Ezra slid it a little closer.
"It forces the book to balance as you write," Ezra said. "Not when you remember to count. If the totals don't match, you don't keep writing. You stop. You find the missing half."
Ezra turned the book so Corvin could see the page. It was one of the Press Office packets—neat lines, consistent spacing.
"Look at this. This isn't a copybook," Ezra said. "It's the Press Office accounts."
He tapped the heading, then the first lines beneath it.
"Resin purchased," Ezra said. "Coin out of Coin. Resin into Press stores."
His finger moved down.
"Cartridges purchased. Wages paid. Repairs. Rags. Lampblack."
He glanced up once to make sure Corvin was following, then continued.
"Each spending is written twice," Ezra said. "One line for where the coin left. One line for what it became. If Coin is down but Press stores did not rise, the difference has a name. If Press stores are down but there is no wages roll, no issued work, no pressed sheets counted, then someone is bleeding it."
He tapped the totals at the bottom.
"It balances as we write," Ezra said. "Not at the month's end when the chest is counted and everyone has had time to 'forget.' If the book won't balance, the work stops until it does."
"I write every handoff twice. Out of one station, into the next. If the second line is missing, the first line is theft with ink on it. And if the totals won't balance, the work stops until it does."
Corvin was quiet for a beat.
"How-How did you get this information," he said, voice careful.
"I read it from one of the books I had before." Ezra said.
"This, this book do you have it? Is it in the archives" Corvin said.
"Sadly no, but I do have a condensed version of it. Think of it as a cheat sheet, or quick guide on how to do it. It's over there by the book case." Ezra pointed.
Corvin nodded, and then slowly strode to the book and opened it.
"Can I borrow this, it seems well constructed, and this is a pressed version?" Corvin asked.
"Yes, you can take it, we still have the stencils stored." Ezra nodded. "We can still print one if we fix the ink supply issue."
Corvin's eyes burned with curiosity while flicking through the pages, but he nodded at Ezra's response.
"Maester Corvin, could you help me with understanding some things about the Blackfyre accounts," Ezra said.
Corvin closed the packet he'd been reading, not all the way, as if he didn't want it out of reach.
"What things." Corvin closed the book and faced Ezra.
"How many accounts do we keep," Ezra asked, "that are actually used. The ones that only exist on paper."
Corvin's eyes narrowed a fraction. "Coin. Works. Household. Garrison pay. Peace. Rolls has its own for fees and copies. Some smaller ones beneath them, but those are the spine."
Ezra nodded once, filing it.
"And Press," Ezra said.
Corvin's mouth tightened. "Press is currently under Works for labor and under Coin for purchases. It is not its own account yet."
"Yet," Ezra nodded.
"In those accounts," Ezra said, "which discharges are fixed. The ones that do not move."
"Wages," Corvin said at once. "Garrison first. Household staff. Works crews under contract. Grain purchases when stores run thin. Lamp oil. Repairs that keep the roof on. The rest can be delayed, but delaying has a cost."
"And which discharges are optional," Ezra asked, "without breaking faith."
Corvin gave him a look. "Optional is a dangerous word."
Ezra didn't blink. "Discretionary," he corrected.
Corvin exhaled through his nose.
"Discretionary is what remains after wages and stores," he said. "It is where projects live. It is also where thieves hide."
Ezra nodded again.
"At audit," Ezra asked, "what remainder does Father require each account to hold. Not what the books say. What he refuses to go below."
Corvin's gaze held on Ezra for a beat longer than before.
"You're asking about reserves," he said.
"I'm asking about what makes him stop signing warrants," Ezra replied.
Corvin's eyes dropped briefly, as if he was looking at columns that weren't on the page.
"Coin must keep a floor," he said. "Household too. Works can be drawn down more, but if Works is empty, the castle stops moving. Your father won't let any account run to the last handful unless there is war."
Ezra let that answer stand without pressing for the number.
Instead, he moved sideways.
"When coin moves between accounts," Ezra asked, "how do you write it."
Corvin's brows pulled together, but it wasn't confusion. It was the feeling of being tested.
"It is discharged from one and charged to the other," he said. "With a transfer warrant and two seals if it crosses offices."
"And if the second entry is late," Ezra asked, "or missing."
Corvin's mouth hardened. "Then the clerk answers for it."
Ezra's finger tapped the edge of the Press Office packet.
"That is where confusion hides," Ezra said, keeping a mild tone. "Not at audit. Between entries."
Corvin's eyes flicked to the packet, then back.
"You're going to tell me your two-truth method fixes it," he said.
"It makes it hard to make an entry accident," Ezra said. "And even harder to lie on purpose."
Ezra leaned forward just slightly—still polite, still small.
"If I tell you the next thing I want to start," Ezra said, "which account would it belong to. Coin, Works, Peace, or Household."
Corvin didn't answer immediately.
"That depends," he said carefully, "on what it is."
"And if it belongs to Works," Ezra asked, "how much discretionary discharge can Works carry in a month before you begin cutting crews or delaying repairs."
Corvin went still. Then he gave a short, humorless breath.
"So that is the question," he said.
Ezra met his eyes. "I'm trying to ask it in a way that lets you answer truthfully."
Corvin held the silence for a moment, then nodded once.
"Can you show it to me?" Ezra asked. "We can go to your office. While I understand some of the overview of how we are doing things. Nothing beats someone who actually knows the accounts, like you Maester Corvin. I can also help you translate our accounts into the double entry ones if you like."
Corvin's ears perked, and faded into a smile. "Of course, Lord Ezra come. I'd be delighted."
Upon arriving the Master of Coin's office, Corvin showed him the books that he didn't get to touch before. The discussion continued for a few hours by night fall. Corvin was all smiles; he bid Ezra goodbye.
"Lord Ezra, your insights are very informative, and I am glad that you pointed out some misunderstandings I had when we were applying things from the book."
"Yes Maester Corvin, It was also informative, your instruction on accounts gave me a better understanding how our coin is managed." Ezra bowed.
As Ezra walked away from the Master of Coin's office, a smile crept in his mouth. Now he had a full understanding of how big an amount Reitz could part with. Now he just had to justify the parting.