A week after the feast, direct vassals and the invited merchants that were trusted came back and were brought to the Lesser Hall in the left wing, escorted by the castle guards.
The Lesser Hall had been cleared for business. A center aisle was left open, and a front table was set like a court table. The men had been given seats lined up in rows, each with their own view of the centerpiece.
It was the press set, brought in for demonstration, that was built for production-grade tolerance. The punch bed. The press frame. The ink table, and a covered tray.
Ashen had put two guards at the rope ends. This was all for prestige. In the end, if someone actually wanted to steal or damage this, they would have to go through Reitz and Aerwyna, and that would have been a messy undertaking.
Reitz stood at the front with Ashen at his shoulder, Rowan two steps behind with his ledger, Extos beside the table with a slate board and prepared stock.
Aerwyna stayed back, far enough to watch faces without being forced into talk.
Corvin sat to the side near the walls, arms folded and eyes moving, while Draffen stood a pace behind him, hands clasped behind his back.
Reitz let the room settle.
He smiled first. It wasn't toothy, but just enough for it to show sincerity.
"My lords," he said. "Masters. Thank you for coming back."
Answers resounded as the audience replied.
Reitz's tone stayed warm.
"You all received the book," he said. "You all saw what the Press Office can do when it's run properly."
He nodded once toward the covered tray.
"This," Reitz said, "is the method behind it."
Reitz paused and gestured toward Extos.
"Steward Extos will show it once."
Extos uncovered the tray.
Type blocks. A composing frame. Resin sheets wrapped in waxed paper. A sealed jar of ink. Clean paper stock stacked square.
Extos set the composing frame on the table and placed the first line of blocks. Then the second. His fingers moved fast, but not sloppy. He did not look at the room while he worked.
Ezra watched the onlookers instead.
A lord leaned forward. A merchant factor's eyes narrowed at the blocks like he wanted to count them.
Extos slid a thin rule into the frame and tightened the wedges.
He lifted the locked form and set it into the punch bed.
He laid a resin sheet over it, aligned the corners, then brought the punch down with a controlled pull.
The mechanism groaned once. Silent enough to not be heard, but the motion was heavy.
Extos lifted it back up.
He peeled the resin sheet away.
A negative impression sat there, crisp and clean. Every letter was the same depth.
Someone made a quiet sound.
Extos held the resin master up for a breath so the front line could see it, then set it down and moved to the ink table.
He opened the jar with a twist, rolled the ink out thin, and charged the roller until the surface gleamed evenly.
He rolled the master. Once. Twice. No extra.
He set a blank sheet on the press bed, aligned it to the stops, and pulled the bar. The press went down, then came back up. A clean page sat there. He did it again, and again—ten times, same motion, no hurry—then stacked the pages on the table without saying a word.
He let the stack speak.
A merchant from River Quaysmen's Wardenry asked the first obvious question. His expression was intense. It was like he could see that Reitz was creating gold out of paper.
"How many in a day?"
Extos looked at Ezra. His demeanor gave off the feeling of that he'd rather be somewhere else, sitting reading a book. If it were a different person, given their standing, they would have been intimidated by the bunch; however, Extos had the look of someone who didn't care.
He opened his mouth and sounded off a cadence that felt rehearsed.
"Per set," he said, "a few hundred sheets if we run steady. More if it's one page and we don't bind. Less if we cut fine and stack clean."
A lord asked the second obvious question.
"How many men?"
"Just one is enough, but two is better," Extos said, scrunching his brows. Not even looking at the person speaking. "More if you want to cut, stack, bind, and keep it clean without waste."
Another merchant from Selmark's Sons Counting House asked the third obvious question, careful with his tone.
"How hard is it to make?"
Extos hesitated at first, looked at Ezra, then shrugged.
Reitz answered for him, still in the same friendly voice.
"Hard," Reitz said. "Not impossible, but near enough for it to be."
This sleazy car salesman of a dad, Ezra thought.
He gestured at the punch bed.
"This isn't a barrel hoop," he said. "It's a tool that has to be made precise. Each moving part requires the best craftsmen; are needed for each part. Weeks are needed for each part to be finished."
He looked around the room.
"That is why...," Reitz said. "The work to be done in order to create one of the sets takes weeks and many hands. Can you see the bronze finishings? Can you see the steel parts? All are needed so that the resin stencils will be precise."
Ezra wanted to roll his eyes. He's lying through his teeth, If we wanted we could make one a week tops.
He let that sit for a while. "Now, gentlemen." Reitz paused, his mouth twitched for a beat trying to cover his smile. Ezra caught it, but the crowd didn't.
"Now that the demonstration is finished, I bid you all safe travels."
"How much?" Someone at the back shouted.
Reitz stopped and looked hurt.
"We are not selling this. We just wanted our good friends to know that we have a method of doing so. We are taking requests, however..." Reitz did another pause for dramatic effect. "For pressing. If you have a book you want copied, you can coordinate with our Press Office, for a fee of course."
Seriously, he needs to stop making things up as he goes, he never told me this. Now I need to have the scribes liaise and schedule. Ezra thought as he covered his frown with a cough.
Some stopped and contemplated. The merchants at the back started to think on what the books were on demand and who their contacts were. They looked at the press with covetous eyes. For them, it seemed that the press was printing coin.
"Won't you reconsider?" another one shouted.
Reitz scrunched his brows. He looked like he was hesitating.
Ezra now rolled his eyes, but it didn't matter because no one was paying attention to him anymore.
"I... it is no small sum, as you can see. This is extremely hard to make, and most of the press sets we have hellp with our internal offices. I... I hope you understand."
Everyone nodded, but some people caught the word "most."
"My lord," a factor from Selmark's Sons said, "do you mean to say you have more?"
Reitz acted like he was caught off guard.
"Well, we do have some not in our current circulation. But... they are limited. This press set," Reitz gestured to the machine, "is one such machine we do not have current use, but will be used in the future."
"Sire, how many are there?" Another factor shouted.
Reitz's face looked like he was taken aback, like somehow a secret has been made bare.
Ezra would have rolled his eyes to the back of his skull.
"A few... but such machines aren't of use to you. We make the resin sheets ourselves, and the ink that you see isn't scribal ink, because that would run. You can't use these as they are, friends..."
"We would be willing to buy it along with the press set. Our factors can help you source any materials required for the ink and resin sheets."
"Friends, this was merely a demonstration. We do not intent to sell. But if indeed so it happens that we sell this, Bren does not lack in supply or in men. We can source our own material if we should sell our press set."
He baited them, Ezra thought.
The factor's eyes narrowed. He knew what that meant: Bren doesn't want anyone knowing how the ink and resin stencils are made. He shifted his body weight and seemed at a loss. It looked like he didn't know where Reitz was going with this.
There was a murmur in the room.
"We won't be selling this," Reitz said firmly, paused long enough for many to shift their weight.
"However, I will be issuing a charter."
Everyone's eyes lit up in unison. They held their breath waiting for Reitz's next words.
"What we would be willing to provide are charter grants. Along with the press set, as you can see that this is no small matter. We would like to be able to ensure trust between our partners. We are unable to part with one unless we know the extent to which the machine will be used for. The charter grants will be renewable and subject to evaluation of the Press Office."
When Reitz came to Ezra the day after the party to have his ideas confirmed for the Press Office to handle, he dropped another bomb. He had convened with Corvin and Kestel to get the idea of sort of a pseudo license paired with subscription, and have Ezra's office handle matters pertaining to it.
The murmur grew louder.
"You-your'e willing to have us use the machines you have in stock?"
Reitz stood still.
The room sat in silence.
"We are willing to have them leased," Reitz let it sit.
"Understand what that means. You are not buying a tool and walking away."
"You are granted permission—by charter—to operate a press set, and to distribute what it produces, subject to the Press Office's discretion."
"Any machine the Press Office deems an Ink Press, or akin thereto, falls under the same grant."
"The charter is renewable. It may also be withdrawn."
Reitz's eyes sharpened.
"If you breach the grant, Bren will reclaim the set—or destroy any machine found in your possession the Press Office deems a copy."
"The full guidelines of what is considered an Ink Press will be issued in a separate writ."
A factor from Selmark's Sons leaned forward.
"My lord," he said, careful now, "You will supply the ink and resin stencils?"
"Yes, we will have a limited stock for now, subject to more supply. We have enough for our own consumption, and we can easily expand to more. You are willing to acquire the charter grants."
The room made a small sound, like benches shifting.
"My lord," the factor replied, "might you grant a charter for the production of the ink and resin?"
"I may consider it in the future," Reitz nodded. "However, in this probationary phase, it will only be Bren that supplies it."
Reitz said it like the whole room had already agreed upon the direction of the conversation, like they had already agreed that they would all be leasing the Ink Presses as a matter of fact.
"I mean to keep it to a small trusted group."
He let that sit.
"You may press what you like under your charter," Reitz said. "Ledgers. Notices. Books. Contracts for your own houses. But Official notice,writs, charters of Bren found to be unsanctioned copies will be traced and found. If found, we will seize the machine, revoke your charter for good. And if the forgery is grave then... more punishment will be served."
His eyes sharpened, just a little.
"The method of the ink and the resin is held under my seal," Reitz said. "It is not for open craft. However, if by grace, some person creates his own machine, the Press Office will investigate and check. We are not going to destroy it. However, usage will still be subject to the discretion of the charter."
Ezra and Reitz had talked about this. Reitz had promised Ezra that he would be the one that would get to pick who to use the press; now, with that very same idea, Reitz is just using it a more broader sense, now applying it to his whole domain. Now, instead of Ezra picking the actual people, Reitz did it for him and set it up. Now it didn't feel like a privilege; it felt like responsibility.
Ezra's brows creased.
Someone swallowed. Someone else smiled like they understood the lesson.
Reitz nodded once, as if this was reasonable.
"This first year," he said, "any lessor will stand a term of proving."
Rowan's pen moved behind him without looking up.
"A probation," Reitz said. "Subject to evaluation by the Press Office."
A vassal lord frowned. "Evaluation of what?"
"Custody," Reitz said at once. "Discipline. Whether you can be trusted with a thing that can move law faster than men can argue it."
He gestured once toward the press set.
"You may buy as much stock as you can afford," Reitz said. "Coin is not the limiter."
He paused.
"Supply is."
He looked around the room.
"We can only make so much this year," Reitz said. "That is why we will issue it by batch. Sealed, counted, and entered.."
Corvin's eyes moved at the word entered. Draffen went still.
"Now, if anyone still wants a lease, then I would like to tell you that it is not going to be cheap."
Hook, line and sinker., Ezra shook his head.
A hush had befallen the Lesser Hall.
A factor near the middle row leaned forward.
"My lord," he said, polite but fast, "how many charters will be granted this year?"
"This year," Reitz said, "there are ten sets that can be leased under charter."
It took a breath for the room to absorb it.
Ten.
A factor from River Quaysmen's Wardenry started to rise.
Reitz lifted a hand.
"Listen first," he said, still pleasant. "Then you may spend yourselves poor."
A few men made tight sounds that might have been laughter.
Reitz continued.
"This first year is probation," he said. "So the terms are simple."
Rowan's pen scratched behind him without looking up.
"One lease per House or counting firm," Reitz said. "One charter name. One set. Nothing through hired mouths, relatives or any other loop holes."
He let that land.
"The lease is for one year," Reitz said. "Renewal is not automatic."
A vassal lord frowned. A merchant's eyes brightened, already seeing what a year of first-mover advantage meant.
Reitz held up two fingers now.
"Payment is due in full," he said. "Now, or within three days."
He paused.
"If the coin is not in Bren by the third day, the lease passes to the next highest bid."
That changed the sound in the room. Men stopped thinking about wealth and started thinking about liquidity.
Corvin's eyes moved once, as if he'd been waiting for that sentence.
Reitz nodded toward him without looking away from the crowd.
"And before anyone grows clever," he added, "your bid is binding. If you speak it in this hall, Rowan will write it. If you cannot pay it, you will not be invited back to the next issuance."
Rowan's ledger scratched on.
Reitz spread his hands, as if this was the fairest thing in the world.
"We will auction the ten leases," he said. "The ten highest bids win."
Ezra was slowly realizing the headache he was going to have. If this practice was to spread then there would be more things for his office to do, but his gut told him this was about to be the least of his worries when it came to the press.