The long and grueling examination process for the sons of rchants seeking entry into the bureaucracy had finally concluded. The great hall, once filled with the rustling of papers and the scratching of quills, now stood quiet, its stone walls bearing witness to weeks of relentless scrutiny.
Alpheo, the overseer of the examination, stood at the head of the hall, a stack of neatly organized results in his hands. Out of the 220 who had attempted the rigorous tests, only 200 remained eligible. Twenty aspirants had been excluded, their lack of skill in reading, comprehension, and writing betraying them in the unforgiving rigor of the process.
For every region of the realm, sixteen coveted spots in the bureaucratic hierarchy awaited filling. Alpheo's task was clear: to select ninety-six of the 200 eligible candidates to occupy these critical positions across the six major regions of the land. These roles were not rely functional; they carried influence, responsibility, and a direct hand in shaping the future of the realm's governance, and obviously every one aspired in getting chosen for those.
The remaining candidates, while not chosen for these prominent roles, would still find purpose. They would be assigned to simpler bureaucratic duties, managing ledgers, drafting correspondence, and performing the essential yet less glamorous tasks that oiled the machinery of the new state. Their work, though uncelebrated, was no less vital to maintaining order and ensuring the smooth operation of the kingdom's affairs.
For those among the 200 candidates who would not secure a coveted role as regional councilors, a new opportunity arose—a chance to prove their worth through service to the realm in a different but equally vital capacity. The court had announced the grand undertaking of constructing a network of aqueducts, a project of imnse scale and importance to the kingdom's infrastructure.
These positions, offered their own form of sustainance , allowing them the possibility to rise , albeit slowly toward the bureaucratic ladders, and as it would seem, the undertaking of the court or better yet of the Prince , opened up a lot of positions for them .
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Outside the walls of Yarzat, ten sturdy wooden tables, weathered but serviceable, were arranged in neat rows, each equipped with stacks of crisp parchnt and small bottles of ink. Quills rested on their stands, as papers filled with inscriptions were neatly stacked in rows of paper.
Around this setup, 300 guards moved with a mix of duty and boredom, their presence both a display of order and a precaution. These were not the elite soldiers of Alpheo the Striped, whose reputation as fearso warriors preceded them. The elite army was currently stationed along the coastal provinces, a bulwark against the ever-present threat of pirate raids.
Before their deploynt, the elite had been granted a well-earned respite, a week to revel and recover in Yarzat's bustling taverns and pleasure houses. Soldiers, pockets heavy with coin earned in recent campaigns, spent their days and nights indulging in drink, song, and the company of companions who made their professions among the city's less reputable districts. Laughter and bawdy tales had echoed through the streets during those fleeting days of leisure, but now, the ti for rrint had passed.
The garrison guards filling in today were a different breed—less disciplined and more unruly. Their faces were hard as they patrolled the tables, keeping watch over the scribes, and the people who waited in line.
In front of the ten tables, a long line of people stretched far down the dusty path outside the walls of Yarzat. Most of them were dressed in patched tunics and worn-out sandals, the unmistakable signs of the city's impoverished masses. The line moved slowly, the hopeful murmurs of those waiting punctuated by the occasional murmurs or the clink of guards' armor as they adjusted their stances.
At the tables, the scribes—n dressed in simple but clean attire—worked with asured efficiency. One of them, glanced up from his papers and called out in a clear voice:
"Next!"
A man in his late thirties shuffled forward, his sun-worn face tight with nerves but determined. He stood before the scribe, clutching his hands tightly as he awaited instruction.
"Your na?" the scribe asked, dipping his quill in ink.
"Rahim," the man replied, his voice rough but steady.
"Family mbers in your household?"
"Five," Rahim answered. "My wife and three children."
The scribe paused to write, his quill scratching softly against the parchnt. He adjusted his spectacles before looking back up.
"Are you aware of the perks of this job?" the scribe asked, his tone neutral but brisk.
Rahim frowned slightly and shook his head. "No, sir. I just heard there was work and ca. That's all I know."
The scribe let out a small sigh, not of annoyance but of acknowledgnt—Rahim's response was common enough. In a city with 10,000 people after all there were many cases that rumors of work spread around , making many not think twice before throwming themselves at a steady position paid by the state.
The scribe cleared his throat. "The job pays three silverii a month, with three als guaranteed by the court at day," he explained, his tone matter-of-fact but firm. "The work is expected to last about five months. After that, there may be a break for a few months before the project resus."
Rahim's eyes widened in surprise. Three silverii a month was more than he had ever earned in steady work, and als provided by the court made it an even greater boon. He nodded quickly, trying to suppress the excitent bubbling up within him. "I understand, sir. That's... that's more than fair, thank you sir" he said, his voice laced with gratitude.
''I don't care if you think it is fair. Thank the prince not '' Reaching into a small stack of pre-written slips, he handed Rahim a piece of parchnt with a stamp of the court's seal. "Take this to the guards stationed at the carts. They'll escort you to the worksite. You'll work during the day and return ho in the evening, the transportation will be organized by us."
Rahim clutched the slip with both hands, his fingers trembling slightly as he processed the instructions. "Thank you, sir," he said earnestly, bowing his head slightly as he thanked him again.
The scribe rely motioned for the next in line and returned to his records. Rahim stepped away from the table, glancing around for the guards. One of them, a burly man in a weathered chainmail. caught his eye and pointed to a wooden cart a short distance away.
Rahim walked over, holding up his slip of parchnt. The guard nodded, gesturing for him to climb aboard. The cart was nearly full, with other laborers already seated, waiting for the next departure. Rahim found a spot near the back, sitting quietly and gripping the edges of the cart as he gazed back toward the line of hopeful workers still waiting their turn.
The scribe stamped the parchnt with a loud thud, signaling the end of the exchange, and then called out, "Next!" His voice was brisk and efficient, the word almost blending into the hum of activity surrounding the ten tables.
Another hopeful worker stepped forward, a wiry man with calloused hands and a wary expression. The scribe adjusted his records and prepared to ask the sa routine questions. anwhile, the other nine tables echoed the sa rhythm: "Next!" followed by the shuffle of feet as each applicant moved forward, eager to secure the promise of steady work.
At each station, the pattern repeated. Scribal pens scratched across paper, and the occasional clink of stamped seals punctuated the air. Many of the laborers answered the questions dutifully but with a touch of confusion.
"Na and number of family mbers?" the scribes would ask, jotting down the responses.
"Five," one would answer. "Seven," another replied. So hesitated, trying to rember exact figures for extended families.
Few of them realized the true purpose of these records. They assud it was rely bureaucracy or an odd quirk of their new employer. Unbeknownst to them, Alpheo had ordered these small interviews to docunt the average family size and living arrangents of the townsfolk, at least only using as data a small strata of the population.
Regarding the job, the pay for the workers was undeniably generous—three silverii a day, a rate that sent murmurs of astonishnt rippling through the city.
For Alpheo, the job not only ensured the completion of vital infrastructure, but it also provided a convenient way to rid himself of the cumberso stockpile of bronze coins that had accumulated during the war. The influx of coins into the local economy was a deliberate choice, ant to invigorate the city's trade and increase the frequency of exchanges within its walls.
Alpheo wasn't stingy about the numbers. The coffers held 45,000 silverii, the recent increase thanks in no small part to the hefty ransom secured from the lord captured by Sir reth. Trade revenues continued to flow steadily, and while the aqueduct project would result in a deficit of around 3,000 silverii for five months, it was a manageable shortfall. Given that his total monthly expenditures would be of 12,000 silverii, while his monthly inco would be of 9,000.
Coupled with the 20,000 silverii already allocated for Pontius's construction budget, the overall expense was steep though.
Yet Alpheo regarded the cost as a necessary investnt. Without improved infrastructure and public works, the city's long-term prosperity could stagnate. A reliable water supply was foundational to supporting the growing population caused by the increase amount of coins getting inside the city , particularly as Yarzat began to solidify itself as a regional hub of comrce and governance, plus it would finally get rid of that disgusting sll of shit and piss that Alpheo hated every ti he strolled through the capital.
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