The granary of Oakhaven was a drafty, cavernous structure that smelled of old dust and damp wood. To the untrained eye, it was simply empty, a hollow shell echoing the hunger of the village. But to Alaric, it was a crime scene.
"My lord, I assure you," the Bailiff stammered, his small eyes darting toward the shadows of the rafters. "The weevils took the spring surplus, and the damp claimed the rest. I've recorded every bushel lost in the official scroll."
Alaric didn't look at the scroll. He walked to the center of the wooden floor, his boots echoing hollowly. He knelt, pressing his ear to the oak planks, then stood and began pacing.
Standard medieval construction, he thought. Raised floors to deter damp. But the elevation is inconsistent.
"Bailiff," Alaric said, his voice echoing in the cold space. "In my fever, I saw many things. I saw how a floor is built to breathe, and I saw how a floor is built to hide."
He stopped at a corner where the wood seemed slightly more polished, as if heavy sacks had been dragged over it recently. He kicked a loose-looking plank. "Bring me a crowbar. Or a sturdy axe."
"My lord! You'll ruin the structure!" the Bailiff cried, his face turning a sickly shade of grey.
Kaelen, who had followed out of a mixture of duty and budding curiosity, stepped forward. He didn't ask for a tool. He simply drove the heel of his armored boot into the wood with the force of a man who broke shields for a living.
The wood splintered. Beneath it sat not the dirt of the foundation, but a neatly lined stone pit.
Inside were sacks. Dozens of them. Tied with heavy twine and marked with a sigil Alaric didn't recognize, a black hawk.
"The Duke's mark," Kaelen growled, his hand instinctively dropping to the hilt of his sword. "This isn't Oakhaven grain. This is... this is tribute. Hidden away."
Alaric reached down and sliced a bag open with a small knife. Fine, golden wheat spilled out, high-quality seed, dry and perfect for planting.
"It wasn't weevils, was it?" Alaric turned to the Bailiff. "You've been skimming the surplus and 'holding' it for the Duke of Blackhawk. In exchange for what? A position in his court when Oakhaven finally collapses and he buys the title for a pittance?"
The Bailiff didn't answer. He turned to run, but Kaelen was faster. With a blur of steel, the elder brother had the man pinned against the granary wall, the tip of a dagger kissing his throat.
"Wait, Kaelen," Alaric said, his voice chillingly calm. "Dead men can't help us with the logistics."
"He betrayed our father! He let the village starve!" Kaelen roared.
"He did," Alaric agreed, stepping closer. "But right now, the Duke thinks he has a spy here. If we kill him, the Duke knows something is wrong. If we keep him, we have a pipeline of information, and a very motivated 'volunteer' for the South Slope."
Alaric looked at the Bailiff, who was trembling so hard his teeth were chattering. "You're going to help us move every single one of these sacks to the South Slope by midnight. And then, you're going to write a letter to the Duke's steward. You're going to tell him that the 'rot' is spreading, and that he should send more 'supplies' to keep the rot contained."
"You want me to steal from the Duke?" the Bailiff whispered.
"I want you to return what was stolen from Oakhaven," Alaric corrected. He turned to Kaelen. "We have the seed. Now we need the labor. We're going to offer the villagers a new deal, they work the South Slope for a triple ration of this wheat, and they keep forty percent of the harvest."
Kaelen frowned. "Forty percent? Father takes eighty. That's the law."
"The law is why we're starving," Alaric said. "Eighty percent of nothing is nothing. Sixty percent of a bumper crop is more than this County has seen in three generations. It's called Incentive, Kaelen. Learn the word. It's more powerful than any sword."
As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long, bloody shadows over the castle, Alaric stood over the hidden hoard. He was no longer just an engineer. He was a revolutionary, and he had just fired the first shot in an economic war.