As the late morning sun plodded through the heavens, Osprey Hall was alive with the sound of currency. The squad had filed into the briefing room and the large table was coated in shining coins, Alter was no authority on metallurgy but they certainly seemed precious enough. Silver and golden hues caught the light streaming through the windows and reflected a subtle lightshow onto the ceiling. Their collection consisted of five distinct types ranging from thin silver circles no bigger than a thumbnail to a hefty golden disc more suited to being a museum centrepiece than legal tender. At the centre of the coin pile was a single sheet of paper, coated with hastily scrawled names, values and conversions.

  “Who in their right mind decided to use multiples of three?” Pavejack grumbled as he shifted coins around, forming small piles of equal value from different combinations.

  “It’s as good a system as any, it’ll just take some getting used to.” Vangroover reassured him.

  “Ferns, Pressens, Augusts. The naming convention is all over the place.” Whim added.

  “They’re named after old kings, or emperors in this case, back from when Northern Meios was one nation roughly three hundred years ago.” The Canadian continued.

  “When did you pick that up?” Alter asked quickly, impressed with his sudden knowledge.

  “It’s from a wonderful, mythical invention called a ‘Book’. There’s a small shelf in the office with some basic history tomes, they’re great for helping you get to sleep.”

  “Nicely done, have you found anything else useful?”

  “I learned that Crown Prince Tristan, circa two hundred to one hundred and sixty years ago, was engaged twelve separate times to different women before finally marrying.”

  “Twelve? The absolute mad-lad.” Whim quipped with a chuckle.

  “Right? But to better answer your question, not really. Most of what was written can be considered glorified gossip, no mention of anything resembling our situation yet.”

  “Keep looking. Anyway, getting back on track. To summarise; One individual unit of currency is a ‘Fern’, three ferns equal one ‘Pressen’, and five pressen equals an ‘August’. A ‘Silver Pressen’ is worth twenty regular pressen, and one ‘Golden August’ is ten regular august. This shakes out to represent values of one, three, fifteen, sixty, and one hundred fifty. Anything significantly beyond these values is handled using solid gold bars and we are not falling into that dark pit today. This currency is used all across the northern continent and maintains a steady rate between nations.”

  “I’m already dreading my first shopping trip, it’s going to be so embarrassing.” Pavejack bemoaned.

  Any further discussion was temporarily cut short as the door opened. Riptide, Boozehound and Boats wandered into the room silently, offering short nods of acknowledgement. Tabitha followed just behind, bearing her customary beaming smile and a tray of freshly baked golden pastries which she slid gently onto an unoccupied corner of the table.

  “Perfect timing, Miss Tabitha.” Alter smiled. “Could you bring me the expenses log for the Hall, please? Or its nearest equivalent? Ahh, the budget for the knights too, if possible.”

  “Sure thing!” Tabitha curtsied and made a hasty retreat.

  The door clicked shut, the men remaining silent until the sound of tapping feet faded from their perceptions.

  “We’re going to get fat if we stay here.” Riptide remarked as he carefully selected one of the larger pastries, devouring it in two large bites. “Looking to stock a treasure chest?” He asked, pointing to the scattered coins.

  “I’ll tell you about it in a moment, give me your report.” Alter folded his arms, face expectant.

  Riptide held up a hand, chewing furiously before swallowing and wiping his mouth with the back of the raised hand. “We got a whole bunch of them.” He began before pausing to pick at something caught between his teeth.

  “Between the prisoners and the recovered bodies, we counted six of the ten we identified in the camp. Four alive, two dead.” Boozehound carried on after shooting the lieutenant a scowl.

  “Unfortunately, the brown-haired man you’d pegged as their leader was not among them.” Boats followed up. “None of them have started chatting yet, but now that Winslow knows which ones to go for, I doubt it’ll be long before we start getting results.”

  Alter nodded and the three returning men were brought up to speed. Five minutes later Tabitha reappeared carrying a pair of thick leather-bound books which she pressed into Alter’s arms. There was a sense of urgency in her actions and as she stepped backward, she wrung her hands nervously and asked that the books be returned as soon as possible. When pressed, she admitted that Morgan would certainly not approve, and feared her ire. After being promised a swift return, she left the room, shooting one last serious look at the men as she left.

  “Looks like we haven’t earned enough trust quite yet.” Alter remarked as he thumbed open the first book bearing the name ‘Osprey Hall’.

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  Neat rows of numbers and letters, pages upon pages of tables all signed and dated by a half dozen supremely official sounding names. Expenditures of all shapes and sizes over a dozen years. From furniture to foodstuffs, weapons to cart wheels. The numbers themselves were short-handed to single letters, however with each coin bearing a unique name the translation was simple.

  “Three pressen and a fern on candlesticks. Two silver pressen for a new suite of bedroom furniture. Looks like the Hall took a weekly food delivery costing roughly twenty F per.” He rambled as he skipped across the ledger’s contents.

  “Would be nice if we could compare it to something.” Riptide responded as he opened the second book. “Look here, one Golden, a silver and three A’s for a new set of armour purchased … early last year I think. What was the date again?” He looked up as his mind wrapped itself around this sudden new puzzle.

  “Two-twenty-three From Third Calling.” Boozehound remembered, tapping his chin.

  “Then I was off by a year, I thought we were on all twos.” Riptide frowned as he flipped to the back of the knight’s ledger and worked his way back. “I’ve got a list of names here, it seems there were eleven knights in service at last entry. There’s mention of a ‘Captain Branchscale’, has anyone said that around us?”

  “It’s not a name I’ve ever heard before. Someone make a note of them before we return them, if these guys got de-mobbed by foul play then we may well run into them sooner or later.” Alter ordered.

  “Are the knight’s pay mentioned?” Pavejacked piped up.

  “I like you thinking, hang on.” Riptide smirked as he thumbed through a couple of pages before making a triumphant noise. “Here. Hmmm. Looks like three A’s a month for the rank and file. Almost double that for any lieutenants and three SP for the Captain, that’s quite the jump.”

  “Then as a small comparison, a regular Osprey Knight can expect to earn just over half of the Hall’s food bill per month. You know what, actually that’s not the best comparison, I’m out.” Whim’s valiant attempt at normalising foreign economics came to a juddering halt as his shoulders slumped.

  “You tried, Simon, and that’s what matters.” Walross patted him on the shoulder affectionately.

  “Don’t make fun of me.” Whim muttered under his breath in an adult version of a sulking child’s voice, his lips splaying into a dramatic pout.

  “Okay, have we copied everything we think we need?” Alter asked, to which the others nodded and closed the book. “Alright, let’s get these back to their rightful places before Morgan finds out.”

  “It’s a bit late for that I’m afraid.” A soft voice spoke immediately behind him.

  Alter froze. The whole squad froze. Wide eyes crept slowly sideways in static sockets. Morgan stood right next to him, the door wide open as if laughing at their shock. No sound had been heard, they’d been so caught up in their task that her arrival had gone completely undetected.

  “G…Good Morgan, ah, morning.” Riptide stammered, a guilt grin of pantomime-level subtlety threatened to rip itself free from his face as he slowly hid the ledger behind his back.

  “Hello, Lieutenant Tide. May I ask where you acquired these materials?” Morgan smiled sweetly, a sight that was truly terrifying given the context of the situation.

  “They were procured on my orders.” Alter stepped in, having regained some of his composure. “I felt it appropriate that we should come to better understand the finances behind our current barracks, and of those that came before us. Have I broken any rules, Miss Morgan?”

  “You may examine the Hall’s ledger whenever you so wish, Captain. However, the Knight’s ledger is not for your eyes, and I would have it returned to me please.” Morgan held out a commanding hand which Riptide instantly complied to.

  Morgan opened her mouth to continue but her speech was waylaid by the pounding of approaching feet as Tabitha burst through the open doorway.

  “She’s!” Tabitha began, one hand desperately grasping the doorframe as her lungs struggled to meet the requirements of her sudden acceleration. Much like the members of the squad, her eyes widen at the sight of her compatriot. “I … I.” She began, but proved herself unable to continue speaking.

  “If you don’t mind, sirs. I have something to discuss with my fellow maid. Lunch shall be prepared for you all soon.” That sweet, spine-chilling smile returned as Morgan secured both ledgers and propelled the shell-shocked Tabitha out of the briefing room with her. The door gave them one last leering grin as it closed.

  Silence reigned over a ten second empire as the men recovered.

  “Gentlemen, I don’t think we’ll be trying any more potential subterfuge today.” Alter gave a half smile and began tidying up the coins.

  “She freaks me out.” Was Pavejack’s honest responding statement.

  “Yeah, honestly, it wouldn’t surprise me if she turned out to actually be some ‘guardian spirit of the hall’ or some shit.” Boozehound quietly agreed.

  “What do we do now?” Boats asked as the rest of the coins were pushed back into their pouch which Alter took possession of.

  “We part ways here, you're free until this afternoon, just don’t wander too far. Later on I want to head over to a local marketplace, get my head around some basic prices.”

  “I’ll join you.” Boozehound volunteered instantly. “There’s a couple of buildings I want to check out.”

  Alter nodded. “Anyone else?”

  Whim and Vangroover raised their hands while the others made mention of other tasks they could perform in and around the hall. Plans made, loosely, the men headed back to their rooms. The copper bathtub had been removed when Alter returned to his quarters, the robe he had slept in had also vanished, and the armchairs returned to their places near the fireplace. A gnawing concern lay siege to the corners of his mind and he fished out the trunk key from a pocket. His rifle lay untouched in the secure container from where he had placed it last night, the same tiny specks of rainwater still clung to its cold metal surface. Every bullet, every grenade was exactly as he’d left it. Breathing a small sigh of relief, he closed and locked the trunk before stepping over to the window. For a moment he stood completely still, watching a lone member of the Houseguard take their slow, ponderous steps along the exterior wall. His thoughts shifted to the bustling city streets, and of the myriad concern the people held, both great and small. Again, the questions of whether they were actually aiding Oliver bubbled to the surface, but he forced them back down. A probing hand poked at the coin pouch which responded with jingling purpose. A few small, friendly injections into the local economy probably wouldn’t go amiss.