Clarice Elford’s three-day trial began more quietly than I had expected.
Starting that first morning, the talented blonde I’d scouted from the rundown inn on North Street sat at a desk in the corner of the office, silently sorting the piles of paper sent from across the domain. Her long hair was tied back in a single ponytail, and her fingers, peeking out from worn-out sleeves, were slender. However, those fingers moved with a strange lack of hesitation as she flipped through the documents. Her blue eyes looked sleepy at a glance, but they turned as sharp as a bird of prey whenever she tracked words and numbers.
"They just stuffed everything into this wooden box in the order it arrived," she noted. "Petitions, payments, harvest records, and copies of penalty silver receipts are all mixed together. You can’t even tell if these have been answered. First, I’ll sort them by village. Next, I’ll divide them into three categories: things to return immediately, things to cross-reference with the ledgers, and things that require a site visit."
"Do as you like," I replied. "If my desk becomes visible, that alone gets you closer to the job."
"That’s a terrible reason to hire someone. Usually, this is where you’re supposed to say it’s for the sake of the domain or something."
"If the domain improves, my desk stays empty. It amounts to the same thing."
Clarice looked exasperated, but her hands didn't stop. She didn't have a bad look in her eyes. She was the type of woman who, even while being annoyed with me, chose to prioritize clearing the work in front of her. People like that are useful. An aide who looks over ledgers while angry is far better than one who bangs on the desk out of emotion.
Mylene quietly brought tea from near the door. Her white bobbed hair swayed as she held her waist keys with her fingers to keep them from jingling, placing a steaming cup on Clarice’s desk. Clarice offered a silent thanks with her eyes for a brief moment before returning to the papers. There was still a distance between the two of them—but it wasn't an unpleasant one. It was the distance of professionals not interfering with each other's work.
By the evening of the first day, the first wooden box was empty. On the desk, only the processed stacks and a few pages requiring confirmation remained. What had looked like a mere mountain of paper in the morning had been transformed into an organized system where one could tell exactly where to send a reply, who to check with, and what should be issued next.
Clarice massaged her shoulder as she looked at the empty wooden box.
"...The first box is finished. Next, I'll start on the second."
"There's more?"
"Of course there is. If you leave a domain alone, even the paperwork starts to rot."
"That’s a problem. If the paper rots, it piles up on my desk."
"Is that really your only concern?"
By noon on the second day, Clarice halted several penalty silver collections she had pulled from the second box. One was a fine levied against a village for failing to transport wheat because a bridge had collapsed. Another was an extra tax layered onto a village with a clogged irrigation canal because their harvest was low. Documents that had been neglected during my predecessor's time were now oozing out like pus.
I sat in my chair, pulling out my signet several times to authorize actions, and stopping several others.
"Wait. The timber costs for this bridge repair are high. Why does it cost this much just to replace some planks?"
"I figured you’d notice that."
Clarice lightly tapped the village name written at the edge of the document with the tip of her quill. Her complexion was better than yesterday, though her cheeks were still thin. Despite that, her voice sounded almost cheerful as she explained her reasoning.
"That bridge is a bottleneck that every wagon heading for the southern village must pass. If you settle for cheap, thin planks, they’ll warp with the first rain. If a wagon loaded with sacks of wheat drives over warped boards, the wheels will get caught. If that happens, the cost will be far higher than just the price of planks, won't it?"
"Then why didn't they write that from the start? Simply saying 'buy expensive wood' serves as an excuse for a village official to line their pockets."
"That’s why I’m specifying the lumberyard. Hardwood from the forest warden isn't cheap, but it'll last three years. Besides, if we repurpose the old bridge planks to repair the village barns, there’s little waste. It looks expensive on paper, but it’s cheaper than fixing it twice."
I looked at the document again. Indeed, in Clarice’s draft, she had included the name of the lumberyard, the type of wood, and even the use for the salvaged planks. I had looked at the immediate cost; Clarice was looking at the wagons crossing the bridge and even the wood left over afterward.
"Hmph... That was a perspective I lacked. You looked at it based on the bridge's lifespan rather than the immediate timber cost."
"Bridges don't exist on ledgers. They are places where people and cargo pass through."
"Fine, you’re hired. You’re excellent, Clarice. If you look that far ahead for me, my workload will actually decrease."
Clarice blinked in surprise, her quill hovering mid-air.
"...You back down easily. Most nobles hate having their hires talk back to them. Especially a man with a face as villainous as yours—I expected you to shout me down."
"If shouting made the bridge stronger, I’d shout. Since it doesn’t, listening is the only logical choice."
"You really are a strange man. You're a lazy worker, yet you don't let vanity get in the way of the job."
"If vanity decreased my workload, I’d use it."
Clarice let out an exasperated sigh, but the corners of her mouth softened ever so slightly.
◇
On the morning of the third day, Clarice brought papers to me even while I was eating my barley porridge in the dining room.
Mylene followed behind her with a troubled expression. Apparently, Clarice had tried to skip breakfast to keep working. I set down my spoon and glared at the talented blonde.
"Eat. Don't look at numbers on an empty stomach. If you make a mistake, I'm the one who suffers for it."
"I'm in the middle of something. Breakfast can wait."
"In this mansion, if you skip a meal, the Master gets angry," Mylene added quietly.
Clarice was momentarily at a loss for words. The white-haired maid was including her at the table as if it were the most natural thing in the world. She seemed genuinely bewildered by the gesture.
"...What a strange house. Even the maid watches me to make sure I eat."
"I have no interest in picking up a collapsed aide. Eat first, work second."
"Fine, fine. If the employer insists that much, I'll eat."
Her words were blunt, but Clarice took a seat. Mylene looked a little happy as she served the porridge and placed it in front of her. I felt as if something very faint had passed between the two of them. It wasn't something that could be put into words. But one of them knew the pain of seeing someone collapse from hunger, and the other had a past of being used until she broke. No further explanation was needed.
When the meal was finished, Clarice placed three sheets of parchment in front of me.
"These are my assessments for the three days. Documents to return immediately, documents to investigate, and collections to halt. Also, it’s better to push through the bridge repairs and the seed wheat loans early. The longer they’re delayed, the more next season's harvest will drop."
"You expect me to actually read this?"
"Read it. I won't follow documents that you haven't reviewed. I've had enough of being the scapegoat for things forced onto me."
She had some nerve. But she was right.
I read through the parchment and made her underline only two spots. The repayment period for the seed wheat was too early. If we demanded repayment in the autumn, the villages would have to cut into their own food supply. A village that goes hungry dies in the winter. If they die in the winter, my workload increases again next year.
Clarice listened to my reasoning and nodded immediately.
"I’ll fix that. It’s true that rushing the repayment would thin out the village’s reserves....You actually pay attention to things like this."
"I can't collect taxes from a dead village. It’s my loss."
"It’s frustrating because your logic is sound even though your phrasing is the absolute worst."
"Is that a compliment?"
"Only half of one."
Clarice returned the corrected parchment to the desk and let out a long sigh. Then, she looked me straight in the eye.
"The three-day trial is over. I'll accept your offer."
I pulled the document I had been waiting to use from the drawer and slid it across the desk.
It was the formal employment contract. Salary, live-in quarters, meals, a desk, authority over the ledgers, the clear line between who gave orders and where responsibility lay, and a clause ensuring that the aide would not be held solely responsible for administrative decisions. Explaining it all verbally would have been a hassle, so I had written it all down.
Clarice read it, her expression turning suspicious once again.
"You were well-prepared. Did it never occur to you that I might refuse?"
"If you’d said no, I was going to burn it. A waste of paper, but cheaper than a dispute."
"Seriously, you really have a way of ruining the moment."
Even so, Clarice picked up the quill. The hand she used to sign her name was trembling ever so slightly. This was different from the signature she'd been forced to leave at her previous house. This was not a confession of a crime pushed upon her. This was a paper she had chosen herself, so that she could work here.
Clarice Elford.
The slender script settled at the bottom of the parchment.
Mylene let out a small, relieved breath. I took the document, dropped the sealing wax, and pressed my signet.
"With this, you are officially my aide. Work hard, Clarice. So that I may live in ease."
Clarice laughed, looking exasperated.
"Yes, I'll work for you. Give me a month, and I'll have a clear view of exactly how rotten things are in this domain."
"Don't you dare keep my desk covered in boxes for an entire month. We just got it clear; don't tell me you intend to bury it again."
"I’m looking through them so I can get rid of them, my lazy, villainous noble master."
Clarice didn't fold the parchment; she laid it flat upon the desk.
Her hand was no longer reaching for the door to escape.