The Dragon's Banker

by Scott Warren

I nodded. “Alkazarian,” I said. This time she did not laugh when I said it.

  “Did you learn his real name?” she asked.

  “It’s best you not know. There’s a good reason for his use of the moniker, and he’s certainly wealthy enough to justify it,” I said. All technically true.

  Dahli frowned at that, leaning away and grabbing a scrap of paper covered in her neat scrawl. “I don’t like that. Sailor, I did some digging this morning. No one seems to know who Alkazarian really is, or where he’s from. Six Gates, you’re the only one who knows if he’s actually in the city!”

  “He’s not,” I said.

  “Regardless. I talked to six other banking houses. No one had heard the name Arkelai either until she showed up in Kaharas four months ago researching their bank notes. Then she appeared in Whadael, Lethorn, and finally here. And somewhere along the line picked up your name. No one knows who she is, no one knows her family, and no one knows what she wants.”

  “Well,” I said, drumming my fingers on the table. “We’ll be getting very familiar with her over the next two years.”

  I looked at the slates around the room. Many were long-term commodities, loans, and investments that could take years to bear fruit. My banking house would extend credit on promising endeavors at a rate consummate to their risk and term. Businesses took time to grow and become profitable. Alkazarian would not wait that long. He needed stakes in ventures that were profitable now. Ventures that would be a ready source of the vaunted notes that he wanted so badly. Businesses to display his new wealth in the form of enterprise, even if he did not fully understand it.

  If one had the knack, they could look at an arrangement such as mine and begin to connect the dots. Buying here, moving and selling there. So often, it seemed, things were not produced in the places they were most required. That suited me just fine, and I thought it would suit Alkazarian as well. My eyes never leaving the chalk figures, I pulled over an empty note ledger. Dahli was ready with a quill and inkwell, and with the occasional query by runner, I began to pull together a plan for Lady Arkelai’s next visit.

  Two days and nights passed, which I used to solidify the positions of existing clients and inform them that my new strategy involved a more passive touch with the aim of long-term growth. Two demanded I buy out their contracts so that they might seek representation elsewhere. They cited the recent falling out with Lord Brackwaldt as a sign my banking house might be suffering in secret. Though it nearly depleted my liquid capital to do so, I acquiesced and offered several alternate bankers that I felt were appropriate replacements. This was not a term specifically outlined in our agreements, but denying highborn clients may have caused a scandal when I could least afford the scrutiny. I had a reputation to maintain. It so happened that one of them had a controlling stake in a caravan company, and at the end of that day, I was the proud co-owner of Kuvtka’s Freight. I had plans for that stake. It would be Lady Arkelai’s first transport. I also handed off much of the day-to-day operations to my junior partners, Bendric and Tokt. Tokt was as Southern as Southern came, from an island some sixty miles off the coast. He knew ships, currents, and winds as well as any sea captain. Bendric was Kaharan, and as such had firsthand insight into the way a coin pressed into the right palm greases the social cogs. And while not explicitly a banker, Dahli Fost cultivated a deep network of contacts with other clerks, secretaries, traders, innkeepers, and anyone who kept their ear to the ground. Were it not for the old-fashioned ideas about women in banking that the moneyed interests of Borreos still clung to, Dahli would be a partner the same as the others. I had trained all three. And to pull this off, it would take all of our skill.

  It struck me then that this was as much a heist as any tale of high adventure. Except we were conspiring to deposit money into the vaults of any bank that would take it.

  I love my job.

  Chapter 11 - Quicksilver

  On the morning of the third day, Lady Arkelai arrived in a resplendent carriage pulled by what looked to be a pair of warhorses. The beasts were probably trained to ignore the scents of dragon that had spooked my own draft animals so. She descended into my courtyard as if she owned it, and from the response of my staff, it seemed they thought she did too. Without a word of my order, they arrayed in line, smoothing shirts and straightening spectacles as Lady Arkelai ignored them. Both of my junior partners, all three clerks, and the draftsman who drove my horse and carriage were accounted for. Even Cas doffed his grubby cap as she strode past him with nary a look. I only warranted a tip of the aforementioned hat. Two goblin laborers climbed down from the roof and struggled to heft a small locked chest between their lean frames as they followed her up the steps and through the door—which I held open. Very few things so encumbered a chest of that size, and my ears strained to hear the contents of that wooden reliquary.

  Arkelai stopped for a few heartbeats in the main room. Whether she admired the setup or was utterly perplexed by it, she turned a full circle. Once she was satisfied, I followed her into my office, pulled out a chair for her, and shut the door behind us. By the time I had locked it and returned to my chair, Arkelai had already begun smoking.

  . Arkelai had told me that I saw what she wished me to see. Was there, in fact, a coiled winged serpent reclined on that plush cushion? The thought was so jarring that I paused midway through the act of sitting down, and for too long to convince myself that she hadn’t noticed my hesitation or horrified stare.

  If she did notice, the dragon’s daughter said nothing and allowed me to look down at my notes—thankful for a second time that week that blushing could not betray my embarrassment. Arkelai did not know me nearly as well as Dahli did, and I doubted she would be so quick to pick up on my discomfort.

  “I think I can safely skip most of the usual formalities, the risk briefs, and the ethics statements,” I said. “This venture by its very nature skirts the law of every country on the continent. I am not an immoral man—”

  “I thought we were skipping the ethics statements,” said Lady Arkelai. I held up a palm to stop her comment. Rather, my palm shot up before I could stop it, as it often does when I’m being interrupted by an over-eager client. This is a reflex common to all bankers. I believe the only reason Arkelai did not continue was that she was so utterly shocked that I would admonish her with such a gesture.

  “I am not an immoral man. I will not act in bad faith to help your father achieve his goal. Nor will I cheat, steal, or deny the Crown its due. Any gold that passes through contracts under my name will do so declared to the realm and in view of the Queen’s assessors. Even a dragon must pay the taxman if he hopes to conquer our markets.”

  Arkelai hissed between her teeth. “I expected you might say something like that. My father won’t like it, especially taxation.”

  I put my hand flat on the table. “Secondly, I’ve drawn up a standard representational contract stating that Kelstern Merchant Banking will perform the fiduciary duties of representing your father’s company assets.”

  Such contracts were common affairs, but Arkelai snatched it up and examined it as if she’d never seen words put to vellum. Her eyes scanned back and forth until they froze on the description of the involved parties.

  “…conducted and authorized by Lady Arkelai of the house Zarian, duly appointed Chief Financier of the Dragon’s Daughter Trading Company?” She looked up. “You’re joking.”

  It was difficult to keep the smile from my face. In fact, I don’t believe I succeeded. The name was on the nose, yes. But there was an appeal to hiding Alkazarian’s lineage in plain sight. I proffered a quill.

  “And a signet, if you have one,” I said.

  Arkelai looked down her nose at me and pressed a finger to the bottom of the contract. I couldn’t see her side of the paper, but I could hear a squeaking hiss and watched a visible thread of smoke drift up to join that of her cigarette. When she dropped the contract back onto my desk, her signature had been neatly inked, or rather burned, into
the vellum. The sigil of a dragon’s fang had also been charred.

  “Splendid,” I said, closing the leather cover on the paperwork and binding it shut with twine. After that I opened a dwarven strongbox installed in my office. The stone vault had a series of runes, which I pressed in the proper order to unlock the mechanism. Borreos was much too warm for the stout craftsmen, so their work was an expensive rarity in this corner of the world. But worth it as the strongbox was nigh impenetrable and safe from fire. One of my clerks would notarize the contract and take it to be filed later, but my locker would keep it safe until then. Lady Arkelai waited with patience to rival saints while I replaced the lid and fished out my notebook.

  “To business?” I asked.

  “To business,” Arkelai said.

  I raised a hand, gesturing to the main trading floor. “I’m sure you noticed the variety of commodities we track—everything from silk, to whale oils, to wine.”

  “Yes, and I noticed that the same things occurred on more than one slate. Am I to assume that they represent different locations?”

  “That’s correct,” I said.

  Arkelai smiled. “Then it should be as simple as buying where they are low and selling where they are high, correct?”

  “Eh, well yes and no. In theory that’s correct, but in practical terms you have to take into account acquisition, taxes, transport, border tariffs, and security. Not to mention competition and futures contracts.”

  “Slow down, Sailor,” said Arkelai. Now it was her turn to hold up a hand against my onslaught of information. “Futures contracts?”

  “Think of it this way,” I said. “A vintner needs grapes to make wine, so they buy grapes every year. But the needs of the vintner never change. They know they’ll need a similar amount of grapes year after year. So they reach out to the vineyard and agree to buy the next year’s harvest for a set price before the grapes are even grown.”

  Arkelai frowned. “They’re buying something on the expectation that it will come later? That’s just paying good coin for empty promises.”

  “Ah,” I said, raising a finger. “That’s paying good coin for security. The vineyard knows that the buyer will be there so long as they can produce the grapes. The vintner can better plan their inventory and in turn offer a contract for next year’s wine.”

  Arkelai rubbed a thumb on her temple. “So wine is being sold a year before the grapes are even grown.”

  “Indeed, and more than a year in some cases. The largest vineyard in Borreos has futures contracts for their entire harvest established for the next twenty-five years. And that contract may change hands many times before its terms come due.”

  “My father will have a hard time wrapping his head around this,” said Arkelai.

  I frowned. “As ancient as he is, I’d have thought him well versed in the art of patience,” I said.

  The dragon’s daughter shook her head. “That’s a too-human way to look at Alkazarian, Sailor. Dragons don’t look twenty-five years ahead. My father may have existed longer than most countries, but he always lives in the now.”

  “Hence the sense of urgency.”

  “Hence,” Lady Arkelai agreed, nodding. “But that’s not your plan.”

  “No,” I said. “It’s very difficult to make a short-term gain on a venture that relies on buying and selling things five years from now. The market is too developed. But an entire industry exists around making sure that a bottle of wine bought in Borreos even makes it to Kaharas, or a radial quartz lens in Kaharas makes it to the wizard college in Whadael. Not everyone has the luxury of skipping across three hundred miles in a day.”

  “Transportation,” said Arkelai.

  I nodded. “Just so. Shipping by caravan, river, or sea. It’s dangerous business, always in flux, and new outfits are popping up all the time. International would be best, as it allows us to flex Alkazarian’s capital away from the prying eyes of Darrez Issa, especially if we can gain stakes in the production companies of goods that are too volatile for reliable futures contracts. Then we can set our own prices.”

  “Sell to ourselves?”

  “At exorbitant rates. It’s a way to inject more of his fortunes into the transactions than we would otherwise be able, while still retaining the proceeds.”

  It would be a clever scheme if it worked. If it didn’t, well, we’d have the Queen’s justice on our stoop. It was an ambitious scope; I had never attempted to manage something on such a scale before. But money could open many doors, and with Alkazarian’s funds, we would likely run out of doors before running out of money.

  Arkelai nodded as she mulled over the idea. “Very good, start building on that. Of course, I assume each transaction is still going to incur taxation. We’re going to be burned at both ends.”

  “An unfortunate requirement,” I said. I closed my notes and unrolled a leather-bound map of Varshon and nearby islands. “I think we should focus on three areas.”

  Lady Arkelai leaned forward. I couldn’t help noticing her platinum necklaces swaying as she did so. Perhaps she was admiring the fine artistry of the detailed landscaping and gold leaf. The map was the most expensive item in my office, and not because of any filigree. When movement over land or water is money, it is worth it to have the most accurate maps.

  “Iron and other metals are always in high demand in Shaitaccea and Grenn. The foothills and eastern slopes of the Redfangs are home to no fewer than a dozen active mines,” I said, my finger tracing along the carefully inked slopes. I avoided looking at Bastayne, which dwarfed its brothers—even on paper. Instead, I brought forth what research I had gathered on the operations. “Ore yields vary too much for futures markets, so we can begin acquiring and transporting supply immediately by both land and sea. Here are the mines I think will be profitable.”

  Lady Arkelai took the papers and leafed through them. “I shall have to get my father’s input on this. He knows a great deal about such things. What’s next?”

  I moved my finger south, past the coast and out into the Southern Sea. “Aedekki,” I said, tapping the leather. That captured the attention of the dragon’s daughter.

  “What are we hauling there?”

  “Everything. All goods out of Aedekki go by boat, and they’re not overly picky about which ones. What we need is stake in the companies that run the ships, or better yet, some ships of our own. Now, Aedekki is a wild land, and there are a lot of new and exciting alchemical discoveries being made there. With Alkazarian’s clout, we can corner the market on one or two and sell handsomely to alchemists in Whadael and further north by sailing up the western coast.”

  “Would it not be safer and more profitable to offload in Borreos and transport through the Redfang passes?” asked Arkelai.

  I pursed my lips. “Yes…”

  Her amethyst eyes narrowed.

  “But those two passes require land access, and I have some history with the lord of those lands.”

  “Lord Brackwaldt,” said Arkelai.

  I nodded. Clearly, my draconic counterpart had done significant research on me before climbing into my carriage uninvited. My situation was a matter of public record. And while Lord Brackwaldt could not deny us travel along the Queen’s road, he could charge a toll on those passes that would wipe out any potential profits. And he couldn’t be pleased about the results of dispatching the Gold and Silver twins to punish me.

  “In any case, those passes are only open for a few months each year. Establishing year-round routes will allow us to capitalize on our short timetable. The routes may be more risky, yes, but Alkazarian’s funds allow for hiring better security.”

  “Not so insurmountable a challenge then,” Arkelai continued. “My father will not balk at the hiring of guards.”

  I did not mention that I was also near desperate to avoid a confrontation with Lord Brackwaldt. After all, it was only by the grace of a dragon’s attention that I had survived the last one. That may be hyperbole, but there was also no telling whether
or not I would have ever made it home that night. Men had been disappeared for less than my perceived transgressions against my former client.

  Pushing my chair back, I stood and began to roll the map back up.

  “Wait,” said Lady Arkelai. I looked up. “You said we should focus on three areas.”

  “Yes, we should. It will level out our risk and smooth our profit curve,” I said as I continued to roll and bind the map. “And once I figure out what that third focus will be, I think it will round out our strategy nicely.” I clapped my hands together, a smile splitting my face. “Now, Chief Financier, let’s get to the capital.”

  Arkelai stared at me, mouth slightly agape. I couldn’t tell what she was thinking, but I doubted it was high regard for me. Nevertheless, she undid the latch on my office door and swung it open. At some point, lunch and tea had been brought to the banking house (had we been inside that long?), and Arkelai’s goblins were helping themselves to healthy portions of the breads and cheeses. To wit, they were stuffing their little gray faces. When they spotted the dragon’s daughter, they snapped to attention and stood beside the coffer, though not before stuffing a few final cakes into their mouths.

  Some scholars have suggested that goblin eyes pierce all illusions, even the masking charms worn by the Sorcerous Crimes Division of Kaharas. When pressed with the question, a goblin will of course lose all knowledge of common tongues and revert to the guttural grunts and clicks of their complicated native language. I wondered then if they could see a different form of Lady Arkelai, and I tried to track the movement of their beady eyes for any reflection of the mysterious woman. Alas, there was none.

  My staff gathered to witness the first gifts of the dragon’s hoard. Lady Arkelai produced no key but swept her hand across sigils that glowed a soft blue on the face of the chest. They dimmed and finally disappeared. As they did so, I heard a faint click within the coffer. I glanced at Arkelai, and she nodded at me. It was no pragmatic dwarven runework. This was sorcery. With the utmost care, I lifted the lid of the box as my junior partners strained to see.