Clarice Elford read through the parchment again and again.
The blonde woman standing by the office window possessed a posture so regal it was hard to believe she had been languishing in a run-down inn on North Street until yesterday. Her long hair was tied back in a single ponytail, and while she seemed self-conscious about the frayed cuffs of her worn-out sleeves, she refused to let her back slouch. Her blue eyes looked weary, yet they sharpened the moment she focused on the text. She had refined features; had she not been so haggard, she likely would have commanded the attention of everyone in a ballroom at the royal capital. As expected, she was quite a find.
Of course, the "find" herself didn't trust me in the slightest.
"...A monthly salary of ten silver coins. Live-in quarters provided, morning and evening meals included, and permission to view the domain ledgers. However, the head's signet must be obtained for all payments. For any work ordered verbally, the name of the person who gave the order and the time of the request must be recorded on paper. No single aide shall be held solely responsible for the results... Tell me, Vain. This is a document designed to bind me, isn't it?"
"It is."
"At least try to deny it. Do you really think a woman would just say 'yes, sir' and sit down after being told so boldly on her first day that she's being shackled?"
"If you intended to work in a way that made such restrictions a problem, I wouldn't have hired you in the first place."
Clarice's eyebrows twitched. I thought she might snap at me, but she immediately returned her gaze to the parchment. She was the type to analyze the content before biting back. That was a good trait.
"You've ensured I can't move funds on my own. You've also made it so the village officials and I can't settle matters between ourselves. But this can also be read as saying I don't have to follow any orders that aren't backed by a paper trail. If I choose to read it favorably, that is."
"Read it however you like. I wrote it that way on purpose."
"It’s suspicious. It’s far too reasonable. It’s so meticulous that it's unnerving. Usually, there isn't a noble alive who would prepare a document like this for a fallen woman."
"Ordinary nobles probably don't consider the massive headache of being summoned to deal with a dispute later on. I hate that sort of thing. 'You embezzled,' 'No, I was ordered to,' 'Who said it,' 'Where's the witness?' Don’t drag me into that kind of mud-slinging."
Clarice fell silent. It wasn't the silence of someone who had run out of retorts. It was the expression of someone treading upon a painful memory. I hadn't heard the full details of what had happened at her previous house yet, but given how her fingers turned white as she gripped the parchment, she must have wanted to hear those exact words for a long time.
Mylene stood quietly by the door. Her white bobbed hair brushed her cheeks, and the keys at her waist gave a faint chime. She didn't interfere with Clarice. She simply watched with bated breath, as someone who had also been saved by the clarity of paper and keys.
Clarice placed the parchment on the desk.
"I still don't trust you. Not just because you have the face of a villain, but because it’s even more suspicious when someone with a face like yours acts with such integrity."
"I was born with this face. And I find that acting with integrity now makes life much easier later."
"And for the sake of that ease, you even prepared a desk for me?"
I gestured toward the corner of the office. There stood an old desk I'd had Mylene dust off last night. The legs were slightly scuffed, but the surface was wide—more than enough to spread out several ledgers. There was a chair as well, and I’d seen to it that an inkwell, a sand shaker, sealing wax, and a bundle of blank paper were already laid out.
Clarice looked at the setup and visibly narrowed her eyes.
"A dedicated desk... it almost feels like a trap to keep me from running away."
"If you want to run, the door is right there. However, don't leave until you've written down your assessment for these three days. If you leave without a trace, I’ll be the one stuck staring at those wooden crates again."
"You truly are the worst. Still, I appreciate the desk. It’s better than spreading ledgers out on the floor."
"Then sit. I have no desire to watch people work while I'm standing. Seeing a tired face makes me feel like I’m the one doing the work."
Clarice let out an exasperated sigh, but she walked over to the desk. Before sitting, she slid her finger across the surface. When she saw that her finger came away clean, her expression shifted ever so slightly. In that cramped room of the old inn on North Street, she probably hadn't even had a proper table to work on.
By noon, Clarice had sorted the crates into three distinct categories.
Petitions to be rejected immediately. Petitions to be cross-referenced with the ledgers. Petitions that required sending a representative to the village. With just those divisions, the stack of papers on the desk finally began to look like a manageable workload.
I sat in my chair and watched her while sipping tea. Good. Excellent. Papers I didn't want to touch were being cleared away by someone else's hands without me lifting a finger. I might have been reborn as a villainous noble just to witness this glorious sight. No, that's an exaggeration. A life of luxury and vice is far more important. But as a path to get there, this wasn't half bad.
Clarice pulled out a request for a well-rope replacement and set it on the desk.
"This one only needs a simple reply. It’ll be faster to have the village communal warehouse provide the copper coins upfront, and then have the manor reimburse them during the next market day. If they have the lord's signet, the village officials can act immediately."
I stopped my hand as I reached for the signet.
"Wait. With that wording, the village officials get to decide how much they take from the communal warehouse. If the manor is going to reimburse them later, you need to set a limit. Who’s going to stop them if they bill me fifty copper coins for a single well-rope?"
Clarice's blue eyes dropped back to the paper.
"...You're right. There’s no cap."
"Furthermore, the reimbursement shouldn't happen on the next market day, but only after someone from our side confirms the work. If we pay without looking at the well, they’ll claim the money even if the rope is perfectly fine. If the village officials are honest, it’ll be over quickly. If they aren't, it’s my money they’re draining."
Clarice was silent for a moment, then she looked at me.
The look in her eyes had changed. Her wariness hadn't vanished, but she no longer looked at me as if I were a mere slacker. It was the look of a fallen genius re-evaluating her opponent’s caliber for the first time.
"...For someone who claims to hate work, you certainly have an eye for loopholes."
"I spot them because I hate working. If a dispute breaks out later, I'm the one who'll be summoned to fix it. I’m not going to let half a day be wasted later when adding a single line now solves the problem."
"...I stand corrected. You're not just a slacker."
"I am a slacker. I simply spare no effort when it comes to the pursuit of laziness."
"What a terrible thing to say. Though, I suppose I don't hate the sentiment."
Clarice picked up a quill and added the maximum amount and the confirmation procedure to the margin. Her handwriting was swift, elegant, and decisive.
Only after reading the revision did I finally press the signet into the sealing wax.
The soft crunch of the signet pressing into the red wax echoed through the office.
Clarice heard that sound and relaxed her shoulders ever so slightly. She had told me that at her previous house, only her seal had remained on the records. Now, it was different. My signet was there. There was proof that I had reviewed the work. There was the line I had insisted she correct.
"...You really do read them before you sign, don't you?"
"I believe you said you would leave this place if I were the type of head who signed things blindly."
"I did say that, but most nobles just get angry when you challenge them like that."
"If getting angry reduced the amount of paperwork, I’d be furious all the time."
Clarice let out an exasperated sigh, but the corners of her mouth softened into a faint smile.
By evening, one full crate's worth of papers had been processed. I had pressed the signet several times, pointed out a few more loopholes, and fought off several bouts of drowsiness. However, this was an amount of work that would have taken me three days to do alone. She had finished it in half a day.
She was definitely a winning bet.
She was beautiful, she was skilled, and while she had a sharp tongue, it kept things interesting. The only problem remaining was that she hadn't officially committed to the job yet.
As evening fell, Clarice carefully folded the parchment.
"I’ll continue with the three-day trial. I still don't trust you. But I’ll use this desk, and I’ll use the paper. And I’ll use your signet whenever the situation calls for it."
"Use whatever you like. As long as it makes my life easier."
"You really never stop saying that, do you?"
Clarice spoke with an exasperated tone, but she didn't try to hand back the parchment. For the first time, her hands looked as though they truly belonged at that desk.