The Fallen Noblewoman Grasps the Future with a Merchant Woman - The Iron Ore Trap

The morning light filtered through the thin window cloth of the cheap inn "Tabigarasu," warming Klara's eyelids. Her body ached. It was from spending the entire night on the hard floor. Klara slowly sat up, rubbing the old wound on her left shoulder. The injury had been sustained a year ago, on the night her engagement was annulled. That night, she had been shoved out of the ducal house gates and slammed against the cobblestones, and her shoulder still ached whenever it was cold. "Awake, are you?" Marta's voice came from the simple bed. She was already up, leaning against the wall and flipping through a ledger. Her narrow, sharp blue eyes reflected the morning light with a cold gleam. "[gentle]Sleeping on a floor like that, doesn't your shoulder hurt? Next time, I'll sleep on the floor." "[whispers]No, this much... I'm used to it." Klara shook her head slightly. (I can't afford to complain about something like this.) She draped a worn shawl over her shoulders and rubbed the ring finger of her left hand. The white, slender mark of a ring stood out starkly in the morning light. Proof of her broken engagement. As long as she bore this mark, she could never return to nobility. No, she had no intention of returning in the first place. Marta stood up and laid out bread and thin soup on the small table by the window. The bread was still faintly warm. When had she bought it? "[serious]I want you to listen while you eat. It's about work." Marta lowered her tone as she tore off a piece of bread. What she explained was a plan to procure iron ore from the northern port town of Wasserburg. Wasserburg was a river port city on the Regen River, through which seventy percent of the Brenhart domain's supplies passed. It was a place where Friedrich's control was relatively lax and where many fiercely independent merchants gathered. "[serious]In Wasserburg, there's a merchant named Johann Berger. He's offering to sell iron ore for thirty thalers. The quality isn't bad. If we bring it to Graustadt, we can sell it for sixty." The thumb of Marta's left hand unconsciously traced the burn scar on the back of her hand. "[serious]I have the license. But there's a problem." She looked straight at Klara with her blue eyes. "[serious]The buyer will be a noble. The ones who buy iron at the Graustadt market are mostly noble house stewards or agents. You know noble etiquette. Their way of speaking, how to negotiate. That's what I want." Klara felt her fingers grow cold as she held her soup bowl. (She's already seen through me—that I come from nobility.) She had known this since yesterday, when Marta had helped her while she was being harassed by Baroness Beck. Marta was sharp. Her appraising gaze showed that she moved with calculation. "[whispers]So you're saying you want to buy my education?" "[serious]That's right. I want you to be the face of the negotiation. We'll split the profits three ways. Me, Berger, and you. Ten thalers each." Ten thalers. Klara caught her breath. It was dozens of times more than what she could earn selling cloth at an unlicensed street stall. It was an amount that could pull her, someone who had been struggling just to pay for a room, back to a decent life. (But—) She rubbed the ring mark on her left hand once more. "[whispers]You know... that I'm someone who was cast out of noble society, and you're still offering this?" Marta's eyebrows moved just a fraction. But that was all. "[cold]I know." A short, curt reply. But her voice carried an exceedingly cold ring to it. "[cold]The shoppers at the market were gossiping about you. The poor former noblewoman discarded by Lord Friedrich, they said. But that doesn't matter to me. What business needs is education, not pedigree." A warmth slowly spread deep within Klara's chest. (She said it doesn't matter about my pedigree.) Those were the first words free of discrimination that anyone had offered her in the past year. "[whispers]I understand. I'll accept." She answered, her head bowed. Marta nodded and asked nothing more. --- A little past noon, the two headed for the warehouse district of the old town. Graustadt's old town sprawled, crowded within the city walls. Stone buildings clustered together, and the alleyways were narrow and winding. The clamor of the marketplace did not reach here. Instead, the sound of cart wheels laden with goods and the shouts of warehouse guards echoed through the streets. To do business in the Brenhart domain, one needed a license from the ducal house. Merchants who held licenses were called *Lizenz* merchants, and they were obligated to pay an annual license fee of twelve thalers and remit eight percent of their sales to the ducal house. This very system was the foundation of Friedrich's power. (Right now, we're doing business without a license. If we're discovered, it won't end with just having our assets seized.) Klara pulled her gray shawl closer as she walked half a step behind Marta. "[serious]Here it is." Marta stopped in front of a stone building that was particularly dilapidated, even within the old town's warehouse district. When they stepped inside, musty air and dampness clung to them. "[excited]Oh, you came! Thank you for coming!" The voice belonged to a portly man in his forties. His jacket was worn, and several brass rings glittered on his fingers. This was the merchant Johann Berger. He wiped his sweaty palms on his trousers as he led the two of them to the warehouse in the back. "This is a sample. High-quality iron ore brought in from the southern Pitten mines." When he pulled back a cloth, a mountain of jet-black ore leaped into view. Marta picked up one of the ores, testing its hefty weight. "The quality isn't bad. What about transport?" "Ah, about that, by riverboat—" Berger explained the transport method in a rapid-fire manner. But his demeanor was restless. His round eyes darted about nervously, occasionally stealing glances at Klara and Marta's faces in turn. It was an awkwardness, as if he felt he was being watched by someone. Klara stepped forward with noble poise. "[gentle]Will you be covering the transportation costs on your end?" Elegant phrasing. Refined pronunciation. Berger's eyes widened in an instant. "M-my, how courteous. As expected, even Lord Friedrich must have misjudged—" He stopped mid-sentence and hastily clamped his mouth shut. The air froze. Marta's blue eyes narrowed like a blade. "[cold]Lord Friedrich?" "Ah, n-no, that's not what I meant! The ducal house is a topic everyone discusses, so—" Berger's face turned bright red as he began making excuses. But far from stopping, his sweat streamed from his forehead down to his chin. (He's hiding something.) Klara's chest tightened painfully. Without a word, Marta dropped her gaze to the contract Berger presented. The license number he held was newer than necessary. And—on the back, the vice-seal of the ducal house was stamped. The vice-seal was a seal used by the ducal house's retainers as a proxy. Normally, such a seal would never be stamped on a license. (This is proof that the ducal house is involved behind the scenes.) The thumb of Marta's left hand unconsciously traced her burn scar, pressing harder. "[cold]I'll hold onto the contract for now. We'll meet here again tomorrow morning." Saying this, she tucked the contract into her pocket without allowing any argument. Berger tried to say something, but Marta silenced him with a sharp glare. --- Once they left the old town, Marta walked fast. Clicking her heels against the cobblestones, she spoke to Klara. "[cold]That merchant is hiding something. Let's postpone the deal until tomorrow." "[scared]But—" "[serious]You must have heard it too. He almost said 'Lord Friedrich.'" Klara looked down. Her right hand was unconsciously pressing hard against the ring mark on her left hand. (Friedrich—) The man who had annulled their engagement a year ago. In the Kleinhandel incident, it was likely his house that had driven Marta's family to ruin with false charges. But— "[whispers]I can't back out now." She spoke in a trembling voice. "[sad]This deal is how I'm going to survive. I want to save money quickly and be able to live without relying on anyone. I'm tired of being a burden to you." Marta stopped walking. When she turned around, her blue eyes were staring straight at Klara. Behind the coldness, something flickered, just a little. "...[whispers]I understand." She answered shortly and said nothing more. The two of them walked the rest of the way back to the inn in silence. --- The sun set, and the darkness of night began to fall over the city of Graustadt. Marta did not return to the inn, but headed alone for the back alleys of the new town. Her destination was the tavern "The Gray Deer." It was a stone-built establishment tucked away deep in the alleys of the new town, a gathering place for information where merchants and craftsmen met night after night. When she pushed open the door, the damp smell of beer clung to her face. "[gentle]Welcome. You're early tonight, Marta." The sixty-year-old landlady, Ilma Strauss, called out from behind the counter. She was known for being tight-lipped, but even more so for her strong sense of duty. The patrons who came to this establishment gathered out of affection for her. Marta sat down at the corner of the counter and ordered an ale. "[serious]Ilma, there's something I want to ask." Lowering her voice, she brought up the name of Johann Berger, her contact for the iron ore deal. Ilma stopped wiping a glass and furrowed her brow. "[serious]Ah, Berger. That man's been awfully flush with cash lately. Just a few weeks ago, he was drowning in debt and there were rumors he was going to close up shop." "Did he suddenly come into money?" "[whispers]Well, you see, Marta. Berger's been meeting frequently with Georg Hein, the captain of the Iron Ring, lately. Someone saw them having a secret meeting here, avoiding the public eye." Marta's finger stopped on her burn scar. The Iron Ring—the *Eisenring*. The private army of the Brenhart house, originally an armed group organized to guard the mines. Now, they acted as Friedrich's hands and feet, collecting from merchants and strong-arming anyone who opposed him. Captain Georg Hein was a forty-two-year-old former mercenary, a man motivated more by money than loyalty. "[whispers]Did Hein say anything?" "[serious]Rumor has it he's moving on 'special business' for the ducal house. I don't know what kind of business, but it's nothing good." Marta downed her ale in one gulp. The bitterness of the alcohol burned her throat. (It's just like the Kleinhandel incident.) Eight years ago, her family's entire assets had been seized due to a sudden license revocation. Back then, the ducal house's private soldiers had stormed into their home and slammed her father to the floor. Her mother had screamed and cried, and her younger brother had trembled. Her father had died of illness in despair, and her mother and brother had gone missing. She alone had survived. The dim lamp in the tavern eerily illuminated the wood grain of the table. Marta looked at her own hands. Her fingers were trembling. (I never want to go through something like that again.) She placed a gold coin on the counter and hurriedly left The Gray Deer. --- Late night at Tabigarasu. When Marta opened the door to their room, Klara was sitting on the edge of the bed, waiting. She apparently hadn't been able to sleep. Her face was pale, and her eyes were red and bloodshot. "[scared]Welcome back. You were late." Her voice trembled. She must have thought something had happened. Marta quietly closed the door and stood in front of Klara. "[serious]This deal might have something behind it." She relayed the information she had heard from the landlady Ilma, pausing between each point. That Berger had

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Episode 2

Name: The Fallen Noblewoman Grasps the Future with a Merchant Woman
Author: Novelia

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