Don’t Cause Trouble
When I nodded, Brother Chris said he’d help while we were in the capital, but told me to give a more detailed presentation of this “exhibition” I wanted to hold.
The next day, I holed myself up in my room and started jotting down anything that came to mind about the exhibition in bullet points.
As I stared at the paper thinking, “Which item should I start with first?” Georges asked what I was doing.
When I explained about the exhibition and asked him what should be prioritized, he said the venue and schedule had to come first.
If every village participated, the main square in the domain capital might not be big enough. And we’d need to secure a place for people to eat as well.
Looks like I’ll need to check how many villages there are. If each village gets one tent, that takes up quite a bit of space, so the square really might not hold them all.
In that case, maybe split it between the marketplace and the square. Food in one, everything else in the other. …It already feels like a mess from the start.
When I asked Georges what came next, he said, “Notices.”
Gathering all the village heads in the capital would be too hard for those far away, so notices would need to be given out in several places. We’d have to choose those locations and also prepare a booklet with an outline.
Am I supposed to do all of this by myself?
I decided to ask Georges to check how many villages there are, get me a map, and find out who I need to talk to in order to secure the square and the market area.
“Notices” and “Outline booklet.”
The notice itself could be like a town bulletin, but who should deliver it? Maybe merchants who already trade with the villages? And the shop notices would probably go through the Merchants’ Guild.
We’d also need to secure lodgings for the village heads we gather, and probably cover some of their travel costs.
And the merchants carrying the notices to the villages would need to be paid a delivery fee.
On top of that: venue fees for the square and the market stalls, rental costs for tables and chairs for meals and rest areas, printing costs for the notices and booklets, and so on.
I’ll need to estimate the overall costs too. There’s just way too much to decide.
Anyway, I wrote everything that came to mind in bullet points, then after dinner I showed my notes to my parents in the sitting room and asked them questions. They answered only what they knew, and I started splitting tasks into what had to be done back in the domain and what could be handled here in the capital.
“I’ll probably be asking more questions, so please bear with me.”
“Hardt, just what kind of work method is that?” Father asked.
“I was thinking of making a budget estimate for the exhibition, but is that strange?”
I explained that I’d submit my own draft budget, and if it went over the one Father set, I’d look for areas to cut or cheaper alternatives. He also asked me about the sorting work I was doing now.
So I told him: I write down in bullet points everything I need to do, set priorities, cross things off as they’re done, and add new ones as they come. I also divide them into jobs for the capital and jobs for back home. That surprised him.
Apparently, the normal way is to set a budget first, then just do whatever can be done within it.
But then you can’t actually do what you want, can you?
If you don’t first make people state what they want to do and have them draw up an estimate, merchants will just pad the numbers through cozy deals, won’t they?
Emergency public works are different, of course, but for yearly projects, wouldn’t it be better to make people submit proposals that explain what they want to do, why it’s necessary, what effects are expected, and a rough budget, then issue orders based on that? That way, you’d have a clearer grasp.
Father said he might try that approach in part starting next year.
The next day, I was holed up working again when Father called me to his study.
“Hardt, a letter came from the palace inviting us to a luncheon party before the auction. Apparently, word got out that you’re in the capital, and some foreign royals are asking to meet you.”
Haah… it’s only my third day here. Am I being watched? Feels unpleasant.
“Are they also asking me to bring Atre and Lucas?”
“No, the royal family refused that, so it should be fine. I did try to argue that you were underage, but it seems I couldn’t win that one. They apologized in the letter,” Father said, showing it to me.
“Well, if Atre and Lucas don’t have to come, I’ll go. I also want to identify which country it was that infiltrated the Varshe Farm.”
“Just behave yourself,” Father said hastily—then quickly corrected himself: “No, I mean, please *do* behave yourself.”
“I’ll go with Hardt.”
“I shall go as well,” Atre and Lucas, who were sitting beside me, said.
“Lucas, you hated the palace so much before. And Atre, what’s with you suddenly saying you’ll go?”
“I promised to protect you, Hardt,” Atre said, placing a front paw on my thigh.
“I said I would wipe them out, so I shall,” Lucas declared, puffing out his chest.
I was touched, but it would be a problem if they rampaged in the palace. There are loads of luxury goods there, and if they broke something, the bill would ruin us. I warned them not to.
“Father, could we maybe get the royal family to sign a pledge that if Atre or Lucas get angry and break some luxury goods, they won’t charge us for it?”
“Fool! Of course not. Hardt, Atre, Lucas—if you’re going to the palace, behave yourselves,” Father scolded us.
But honestly, it all depends on the other party, doesn’t it?
What do you think about this chapter?
