Chapter 5

Investing in the Future

Five days later I entered Caemlyn, but I was disappointed to notice the mood in the city hadn't changed. There were still grumblings that the queen had left to escort both Logain and the Daughter-Heir to Tar Valon. Not so much about Logain being gone, but there were still people that thought Andor should put some distance between them and the Aes Sedai. Spring had come, but very little of the hatred had melted.

Here and there I still saw the red and white bands and ribbons that signified those factions were still a thing. That hadn't been in the books, but then Caemlyn hadn't featured in the books until Mat had come to deliver Elayne's letter. Obviously a lot had happened in between, but it had been off the page. I passed a hawker prizing his meat pies as I reflected on that. People didn't simply freeze when the story's focus moved elsewhere, they kept living their lives.

Turning the corner I saw the offices of the Caemlyn Times. Someone had paid for a large sign to hang above the door. A rolled up scroll that I supposed represented a newspaper. On the wall between the ground floor and the windows of the first floor the name had been painted in bright yellow letters.

Entering through the front door I saw they'd made some changes. A counter had been installed, the work so recent the scent of freshly sawn wood still hung in the air. I didn't recognize the young man manning the counter either.

"May the light illumine you, sir," he said as I swung the door shut behind me.

I returned the greeting and headed for the back door, only to be intercepted by the fellow. This close, I noticed he had a slight overbite with a snaggle tooth.

"Sorry sir, but that's for employees of the newspaper. Do you have an appointment?"

I caught myself about to ask him if he didn't know who I was. Not only was it obvious he didn't, but I didn't want to be that person. So I gave him a smile instead. "I actually came to apologize to Master Hagaidhrin for not making it to our agreed upon meeting. What's your name?"

"Aryl Machiaw."

"Aryl, could you let Master Hagaidhrin know Ron wants to speak to him?"

"I see." He gave me another look. I'd returned to my usual appearance so I wasn't dressed that richly, but it wasn't quite Andoran garb. "Please stay here. I'll see if he's available."

It took several minutes before the door swung open again and Hagaidhrin came out followed by Aryl. "Ron, how are you back already? We got your letter a few days ago and that mentioned you'd were in Shienar?"

"I was, though I sent that letter from Tar Valon. My lead had me joining up with an Aes Sedai that used the Ways to travel from Caemlyn to Fal Dara in a couple of days. I only had to travel back the long way."

"The Ways?"

"A long story, I'll tell you all about it. I kept several things out of my letter." I gave the room a look. "But it looks like I was away long enough for things to change around here as well?"

Norar looked around. "Yes. We've been growing. You were right about that butcher and Sologan's articles about the whole mess drew a lot of new readers. But let's talk about it in my office. You must be tired from your journey and I'm not the youngest anymore." He looked out the window. "Where's your horse?"

I pressed my lips together before I shook my head. "Nosy didn't survive the Ways. It was a very dangerous journey."

Norar grunted. "A lot of people ended up losing a lot more getting involved with Aes Sedai. But come on."

I went to follow him when Machiaw approached me. "Ah, sir, I'm sorry I didn't recognize you."

I held up my hand. "It's fine. I didn't give you my full name and you got hired while I was away so we'd never met. You did your job. Keep it up." I patted his shoulder before following Norar into the shop.

The shutters on the first floor were all open but even with all that ventilation the smell of ink and paper hung heavy in the air. I got more than a few greetings as we crossed the shop floor. But here too were new faces.

"I see we got another press in operation," I said.

"Not just one. We're experimenting with your other design in the next room though it's fighting us. Yesterday the entire frame cracked."

"You found my draft on that? I'm not sure you can make that one with just wood. It might have to be made entirely out of steel," I said, rubbing my chin.

Norar's eyebrows climbed into his hairline. "An entire printing press made of steel? Our little workshop couldn't make that. You'd need a team of blacksmiths to even try."

"Which is why I didn't try to make that one. Where did you even get it?"

"It was with that stack of papers you handed me. It looked interesting, so I put some people on it. We'll keep at it, maybe reinforcing the frame with iron strips will be enough. Oh, and the papermakers are having trouble supplying us. One sheet costs 4 copper pennies now so the price of an issue went up as well. But we have more good problems then bad," Norar said as I followed him into his office.

We both took a seat and Norar visibly relaxed when the weight was off his feet. "Are you alright?"

He waved it off. "I'm fine." Norar barked a laugh. "Better than fine. I'm busy! A couple of months ago I … I don't know what I was going to do. Work for Dautrish, I guess. Now, I think we might be able to buy up some of our competition."

"Alright." I wasn't so sure how happy I was about that. I didn't want to become the only printer in town, I wanted there to be a healthy competition. "I might have an idea for the paper problem." The paper here was made from rags, linen rags to be specific since cotton or algode as the Aiel called it wasn't exported. But in my own time paper was made from wood pulp. And there was a stonking big forest not too far north of Caemlyn. "I'll have to think about it."

"You do?" Norar gave me a searching look. "That would be a help, but we don't have the money to start a new business. Even if we need the paper."

"Let me worry about that." I stared into the distance as I tried to figure out how to do it, my power already providing some answers. The money wasn't the real problem, finding a way to do the funding without raising too many questions was. "I've been lining up funding for another project but I think I should be able to find enough to do something about our supply problem." I quirked an eyebrow at Norar. "Unless we can find a partner interested in expanding their business?"

He gave me a half grin. "Oh, I think I might." His grin turned a little painful. "But we've got something else to deal with first. We've drawn the attention of the palace."

"We have?"

He gave me a slow nod. "Yes. They're a customer, actually, we deliver twenty issues to the palace every week now and some of us have been wondering if one of them is for the Queen herself. But whether she reads it or just the retired servants, we've got an invitation. They want to speak with you."

"Me?"

Norar sighed. "Ron, you're a foreigner—and note I never asked where you were from—but the Caemlyn Times is getting read a lot these days. We've been steering clear from the whole Red and White argument, but I think some up there are worried where we'll land when we do."

"We won't," I said. Norar brought up his hands but I wasn't finished. "We shouldn't, Norar. I want to be a reliable source of information and that means the newspaper itself doesn't take a side. Individual reporters can have their opinions and they're free to express them clearly in their articles. Just as long as they remain true to the facts."

"I don't know, Ron. They've got a point with how our ties to Tar Valon haven't really done anything for us. Now I don't think the Aes Sedai delayed spring, but you got to admit they've been meddling too much in the affairs of other people."

"And if you want to write an opinion piece in the Caemlyn Times to argue that, you should do that," I said. "But … you might not want to."

"What do you mean?"

"As I wrote, I managed an interview with the Green Man."

"And I don't want to call you a liar," Norar interrupted leaning closer to me. The arm rest creaked as he rested his elbow on it. "But a lot of our readers will. Light, some of them think Trollocs are made up. We might not want to publish that interview."

"If anybody challenges the interview, I've got an Aes Sedai witness. Even the most ardent White won't argue an Aes Sedai can lie." Norar grunted, which I ignored. "But what I want to talk about is part of what I left out of my letter. The Green Man is dead."

Norar reared back. "What?"

I didn't know if he would believe me. But as I told that Wise One, it's keeping things back that caused a lot of troubles in this world. I nodded. "I joined that Aes Sedai because she'd learned of a threat to the Eye of the World. That's gone now too. Two men attacked the place, they could channel and they claimed to be Aginor and Balthamel."

"That's not funny," Norar said, giving me a flat stare. He slapped the arm rest of his chair. "Not funny at all."

"I'm not joking."

"The Dark One and all the Forsaken are bound in Shayol Ghul, bound by the Creator at the moment of Creation, bound until the end of time." Norar's throat bobbed up and down.

I hummed. "That one hasn't made sense to me. Not a lot of history survived the breaking, but we know the Forsaken were born 3,000 years ago which is well past the beginning of Creation. They were, or are, human. And I saw two of them about a month ago."

Norar's face lost much of its color. "You-you've gone mad. If you really met one F-F-F-Forsaken. You'd be dead."

"I think their reputation is slightly overblown. Or spending all that time in a prison weakened them because between the Aes Sedai, the Green Man, and a ragtag group that included me of all people, we killed them."

"Killed a Forsaken? Are you mad?"

"No, though if you worry I want to publish that then don't. I need extraordinary evidence for that and unless I miss my guess, Tar Valon's policy right now is to keep it as quiet as they can."

Norar gave a weak shake of his head, then shuddered like a dog shedding rain. His voice, though, hadn't regained its strength. "What do you mean?"

"Think about it. If even one Forsaken can slip out of the prison that's holding the Dark One, that means Tarmon Gai'don approaches. Puts a new perspective on all those False Dragons popping up lately." I shook my head. "And the Aiel have been spotted this side of the Spine looking for some warleader they call He Who Comes With the Dawn. Supposed to lead them through the Last Battle."

"The Last Battle," Norar muttered as he gazed at the wall as if it was his own grave.

I put a hand on his arm. "I think we got a few years still. Tar Valon wouldn't try to keep it quiet if they didn't think they still had time to prepare. And that means we have time to do our part."

At last Norar's eyes sharpened as the mind behind them started to work again. "What do you mean by that?"

"We arm people with knowledge so they won't be surprised so much when it happens." And maybe have people look out for Forsaken instead of letting them run around completely unopposed. "And I've got ideas on how to ramp up weapon production. It's called the Last Battle so I figure people are going to need something to fight it."

"You're not lying," Norar finally said. "Or mad, Light help me."

"I think you need a drink. Don't you have a bottle around here somewhere?" With a choppy nod, Norar pulled a box from his desk. He retrieved a mostly full, dark bottle and two tumblers made of cloudy glass from it. I still didn't like alcohol, but for Norar I would make an exception this one time.

VVVV

I entered the Royal Palace of Andor through a small entrance in its eastern wing armed with a leather bag that held a couple of folders. All of it got inspected by the two guards that ushered me in.

The palace was an interesting experience. With the decor I could imagine myself in a museum, one set in some century old mansion. Every hallway had a tapestry or two depicting scenes from what I took to be Andoran history and the furniture here and there looked antique to me.

And then you came across the people working in the palace. They were carrying and cleaning, all wore a red tunic with a climbing white lion on the chest in a style more Renaissance than Medieval. Then there were the guards in their red jackets with polished breastplates and sleeves of mail. None of these people were actors.

I was made to wait outside the office of the Captain-General of the Queen's Guard while one of the guards informed Gareth Bryne I was here. Then he left leaving me alone with the other guard.

I'd arrived early as was my custom so having to wait a while wasn't strange. But as the shadows slowly traveled along the wall it took me longer than it should have to recognize the play. He kept me waiting on purpose. Or maybe he was just this busy with the Queen on the road to Tar Valon.

Not that I spent my time simply twiddling my thumbs. My pencil scratched the paper, the faint rattling of a stack of plates a servant carried down the hallway. I couldn't stay in Caemlyn for too long. I had places to be and I wanted a good long look at the Seanchan.

And if they were as bad as in the books, or worse, I had an idea of how to deal with them. At least on this side of the Aryth Ocean.

A new shadow cast over me and I looked up at the guard. "The Captain-General will see you now."

"Of course." I put my pencil and notebook away, though, before I stood and followed him into the room.

Gareth Bryne was an older man, broad in the shoulder with a square chin. His hair was still mostly black, though with a lot of gray at the sides. A red cape with gold braiding hung from one post of his chair with more gold on the cuffs of his uniform. No armor, not here in the palace.

I thought to break the ice, but Bryne was the one that had summoned me. So I stood a little off to the side before his desk, one hand on the chair that stood there. He looked up from whatever he was reading after a few more moments. "So you're Ron Shen," he said.

"Yes."

"You invented that new printing press."

"Just a small improvement," I said. He hadn't asked there, just stated facts. "Is this about that? Your invitation wasn't specific?"

"Because I had several reasons to want to speak to you. For one, what do you make of this?" He pulled two sheets of paper out from one stack and held them out.

Taking them, I noted the paper was rough. We didn't use the best for the Caemlyn Times, but this was even cheaper than that. But what was on the paper was more interesting. Lower half had a screed against the Aes Sedai and Morgase, the upper half though had a depiction of Tar Valon as a fat woman riding a lion with helpful sashes that made it clear what they were supposed to symbolize.

This was a broadside as had been popular in the sixteenth century. I'd only introduced movable type a couple of months ago and they'd already taken it this far. "Interesting."

"Is that so?"

I looked back at Gareth Bryne. "Hmm? Well, yes." I studied the broadside a little closer. "They actually married my movable type with more traditional woodblock printing for the picture. We haven't tried that yet. Though they're having some problems of their own. Capital letters weren't properly cast, that's why there are pieces missing from just about every one except the V. And they're using the old ink formula, that's why you have all these smudges. It needs a lot more time to cure."

"My problem isn't the quality, it's that they're selling this all across the city. With the Queen escorting the Daughter-Heir and the Princes to Tar Valon I'm charged with keeping the peace. Thank to you, that's a lot harder."

I lifted a single eyebrow. "There aren't any broadsides defending the queen's relationship with Tar Valon?"

"Broadsides," The Captain-General said slowly, as if tasting the word. "So you knew this would happen."

Ah, they hadn't had a name for them before. Well … damn. "I'm familiar with the concept. But you don't think my print shop made these or we would have this conversation in a different setting."

"We can always move it there, if you like," Bryne said, one balled fist on the desk. "You might not have printed these, but are responsible. Right when tension in Caemlyn rose you appeared with your new printing press and this newspaper. Now paper and ink are stoking the fire. But with all the secrets your Caemlyn Times is spilling, the one nobody can figure out is where you came from."

I could only shrug. "I've made it no secret I'm not Andoran. Nor have I ever spoke or written in favor of the Whites position."

"Or voiced your support for Queen Morgase."

"Not Andoran, not my business."

"Your company hasn't spurned the Queen's money however," Bryne said.

"Well no. You needed a job done and QuickFast Printing made the best offer."

"I see." The Captain-General sat back. "Now that you've told me what you are not, why don't you speak on what you are?"

"A problem solver," I said, gesturing with my hands. "You're complaining, I mean, pointing out that you're losing the broadside war. I would suggest hiring some writers and artists and publish counter -broadsides. You've got the money and clout to invest in a better looking product while keeping the price the same and most people don't want to be on the side that looks … shabby."

To emphasize my point I gave the guard's uniform a meaningful look.

Bryne did not look impressed. "Your solution is adding more wood to the fire?"

I shrugged. "The broadsides aren't causing the current tension, they express it. So you can do two things, defuse it by arguing that things are improving thanks the wise rule of M-Queen Morgase. Or you can take a page out of the Whitecloaks' book and lay the blame for everything on a foreign conspiracy. I personally nominate those lovely people in white as the villain of the piece. They got it coming."

"And no doubt your print shop should get the contract for this," the Captain-General said.

I gave it a moment's thought, then shook my head. "No. You should get someone else. Or take control of it directly and add a printing office to the Palace. But whatever you decide, you're going to need paper for it and now that we're speaking I'd like to present a proposal," I said, retrieving a stiff leather folder from my bag.

"Caemlyn's experiencing something of a paper shortage at the moment. But I had a thought. What if we make it out of wood pulp instead of linen? There's a stomping big forest north of the city to provide the wood pulp and if this works it would mean cheaper paper for everybody." I gave the stacks of paper that littered Bryne's office a look.

"But as the Braem Wood is royal property, so you need royal assent," Gareth Bryne said. "But the crown has a lot of problems on its plate right now. Including the growing tension in Caemlyn."

I knew I wasn't the most insightful person, but I thought he was angling for something. "Ah, well, perhaps we can help each other then?"