The wine goblet smashed against the wall in the throne room. All eyes followed the shards as they scattered across the polished marble floor, and several servants scurried to fetch brooms.

“Unacceptable!” King Reginald Silverguard IV screamed, spittle flying from his jaws. “How could they lose?”

The tirade continued, unrelenting, for several minutes. A teenage serving boy offered the monarch some more wine, hoping to calm the raging man down.

He must be new, several members of the court thought simultaneously, as they watched the proffered goblet drained and then smashed against the boy’s head. The boy stumbled back, blood welling up across his scalp. No one said a word as he left the room, dazed.

“What a colossal pile of stupidity,” he proclaimed, perhaps a little drunk. “Someone tell me why our commander wasn’t able to conquer a handful of unaffiliated villages?”

Silence met him. No one wanted to risk the king’s ire to defend the man.

“He dares to request 300 more men! That’s the rest of the standing army without us calling in the levies. There’s no way I’m sending them to a failure like him,” the ruler groused.

“My lord, may I offer a suggestion?” a black-cloaked figure standing to the side of the court spoke. Lucius was the Silver Kingdom’s spymaster, and he looked the part, from the perpetual grimace on his face to his dark attire. King Reginald waved his hand expansively, prompting him to continue.

“I will reach out to my contacts in Brighton. I’m sure we’re all aware they’re the most likely culprit behind our little setback. We’ll find out how many men they have fielded, and that will let us know how many men we’ll have to send to be confident in our victory, and let us know if it’s worth fighting the war.”

“Ah, yes. Do that,” the king replied grandly. “Brighton will have to pay, as will anyone who stands with them. Make sure we burn them to the ground.”

That evening one of the portly palace cooks walked into a dilapidated apothecary shop. Behind the counter, a plain-faced, thin woman looked up from the book she was reading. She gently placed a slip of paper between the hand-copied sheets, stood up from her stool, and smiled. “Good to see you, Mildred. How can I help you today?”

The cook clenched her hands, and a look of masked fury was visible in her eyes. “I’m going to pay back the favor I owe you, and more. The king,” she spit the word out like it was poison, “decided that my nephew needed a goblet smashed in his face. Do you know what he did to deserve that?”

The other woman knew better than to answer the rhetorical question.

“Absolutely nothing, besides being near the king when he got bad news.”

“Bad news?”

“Yes, and here’s my repayment for your help in solving... my problem last year. The king is going to war,” Mildred stated.

“With who?”

“Brighton. I’m sure you’ll find something to do with that information.”

The woman sat still for a moment longer, her hands folded neatly on the rough counter in front of her. “I will,” she finally spoke. “Indeed, I will.”

---

“One of the prisoners wants to send a message, my lord,” Tyler said one morning in their daily council meetings.

“Uh, what?” Jason inelegantly responded.

“He wants to send a message to his family,” the military man repeated.

“I got that part,” Jason said. “But what prisoners are you talking about?”

“The men we captured in our last battle. They’ve either mostly healed or died by now, and so we’ve started putting them to work on the outlying farms or digging crews. One of them apparently has a wife and kids he’d like to send a message to. I wanted to know your thoughts on that.”

Alex spoke up, seeing the unhappy look on his lord’s face. “We’re paying them three coppers a day, my lord; the same wage our own men earn.”

Jason stopped the rant he was building up to before it started and chuckled. “You know me well, Alex. Well done. I wouldn’t stand for slave labor.”

Alex continued, “Of course, my lord. You should also know that paying the enemy was wildly unpopular with our townspeople when the rumors got around. I eventually asked them if they would rather have you provide the prisoners free room and board or make them work for it. That seemed to shut most of them up pretty quickly.”

“That’s some convoluted logic, but if it works, great. Now, about the message - I assume you’re asking me because you believe there’s a chance critical information could pass to our enemies in the Silver Kingdom?”

“That is always a possibility,” Tyler said. “I know you and Phipps tried to scare off the Silver Kingdom by making them think Brighton was backing us. It’s hard to prove a negative, so even if people claim they haven’t seen Brighton’s soldiers, it doesn’t mean we don’t have their backing or the soldiers aren’t ready to come on short notice. But if enough word of your new technology reaches their ears, they may decide they need to take us regardless of risk.”

Phipps spoke up. “We haven’t seen many travelers over the last couple of weeks, but there have been a few that came from the direction of Silver City. They are mainly people who have little to lose and who aren’t happy with the new lack of freedom due to the king’s control. It seems pretty much every village to our east has been taken over by the king’s men. What used to be a collection of mostly autonomous towns and influential city-states is turning into a unified monarchy, and by fighting back, we’ve set the border at our doorstep.”

“Our valley is off the main route between Brighton and Silver City, right?” Jason asked, a gnawing unease growing in his stomach.

“Yes, there’s a slightly faster route along the Noble River that doesn’t require going over a mountain pass and through the slightly longer route by our town. Most trade travels that way.” Alex explained. “But if you don’t mind an extra day or two of travel - less with a horse - the route through the Unclaimed Lands is perfectly viable.”

Jason’s concerned expression made the ensuing silence grow uncomfortably to the rest of the members. No one wanted to interrupt his thoughts, though, and they waited for him to speak.

Finally, unable to come up with the answer on his own, he asked the question that had been plaguing him. “If Brighton and the Silver Kingdom go to war, will they fight along the main trade route, or will we be caught in the middle?”

Tyler’s answer reflected the rest of their thoughts. “There’s no way to tell.”

“We had better figure out how to change that,” Jason stated, then added retrospectively, “Shifting the focus on to Brighton was great if it warned Silver City off of attacking us, which was our plan. If it triggers a full-scale war between the two powers, all the towns in between are going to be gobbled up by one or the other”

After a short pause, he continued, “If the battles are along the Noble River, away from us, we’ll probably be fine. If the fighting moves to the route through the unclaimed lands, and through us… we’ll be in trouble.”

Tyler jumped in, “We need an army of our own. Not conscripted farmers and unskilled laborers. These guns of ours are going to change warfare forever, but I need men that can learn new tactics and know their weapons like their own hands.”

“How many were you thinking,” Jason asked.

Alex started to speak up, but Samantha beat him to it. “Remember, we lack funds right now.”

“I was going to say the same,” Alex noted, giving Sam an approving nod.

“We won’t have anything left if we don’t defend it,” Tyler argued. “But I understand the problem. I’d like 200 men, but we don’t have the guns for it yet anyway.” Otto nodded at that.

Tyler continued, “100 would be a reasonable force to start with if I’m defending against forces of 500 or 600 men. Any more against us and the advantage our guns give probably won’t stop us from being overrun. Also, a higher mix of cavalry would be more of a threat than massed infantry, at least on the right terrain.”

“You’ve been thinking about this,” Jason said, pleased.

“Yes, my lord. I can’t be sure I’m completely right about that, but I do believe I am close.”

“What would maintaining a 100-man army cost?” Jason asked next.

Alex replied, “We’re paying our current Doughboys six copper per day, so that is six gold per day for 100 more.”

Jason winced. I can’t afford to do that. I can’t afford not to, either.

“What if we just conscripted the men before we expect the next battle like we did for the last one,” Jason asked, though he thought he knew the answer.

“We’d have a bunch of untrained men, my lord,” Tyler said. “Last time, we attacked from ambush, giving us a huge advantage. We didn’t require any movements or precise coordination during the battle. The enemy was mostly unable to reach our line, so there wasn’t the temptation for our men to break and run when blood started to flow. We had surprisingly accurate information beforehand that allowed us to make a clever plan work.”

Tyler stopped. “In most battles, clever isn’t enough. Training is the deciding factor. Better weapons are an advantage that we need practice to wield effectively. Practice that we aren’t currently getting, except for our existing small unit of soldiers.”

Jason let that sink in, then had an idea. “What about a reserve system? One where we have them practice one or two days a week, and only pay them for those days? Then we could call them up full-time when we need them. Everyone gets some training, that way.”

“I suppose it’s better than nothing, my lord. At least the men will have some familiarity. Though I would be more confident with more men or more time.”

“I would too, Tyler. It appears that it all comes down to how quickly we can change our deficit into a surplus of six gold. Then you’ll get your men, and we’ll all get a bit more security.”

“That would be nice,” Samantha said softly.

“To the original question,” Jason continued, “Let the men send messages if they don’t appear to be dangerous. I’d hate to keep their family members not knowing if they’re alive or dead.”

The meeting moved on to ways of earning money, and Jason was happy to learn that a man with the knowledge of how to make clear glass had been recruited. For promises of significant funds, of course, but Jason wasn’t too worried about that. Alex had brought a sample for Jason to see and handed the disk to the lord.

“That is very clear. Not perfect, and has some rippling across the face, but should be good enough. Have you tried coating one side in silver, yet?” Jason asked.

“Yes, my lord. Several times. Each time they poured the silver, the glass shattered.”

Jason groaned. “Do we know what happened?”

Alex looked unsure. “Perhaps it was the sudden heat? That’s what the glassmaker thought, at least.”

Jason sighed. “That would make sense. Silver has a fairly high melting temperature. Perhaps we need a metal that melts at a lower point? I know they called the process silvering, though. What about lead? But that probably wouldn’t reflect properly. Tin melts at a lower temperature, and that’s probably a step in the right direction. It might be something to try.

“Wait a minute. You said pour,” Jason remembered. “Maybe if we put a thinner coat by brushing on the silver?”

“Would a brush survive the molten metal?” Alex asked.

“We’d have to use something other than a standard brush, perhaps more like a metal spatula. I’m not sure it would work, but let’s try that too.

“I’d coat the back in mercury - you probably call it quicksilver - if I thought I could get it to stick,” Jason added. “Perhaps mixing that with another metal? We’ll have to see. Though we’d want to be careful as those fumes would be toxic.”

Samantha spoke up. “It sounds like we are unlikely to have a finished product to sell soon.”

“If brushing on the silver works, then we might be able to put a simple band around the glass, add a handle, and call it done. A week to get it right, perhaps? Maybe less? If that doesn’t work, then we’ll probably be out a few more weeks before we get a lower-temperature coating figured out,” Jason admitted.

“How much will these be worth when we are done?” Samantha asked.

Jason looked at Alex, who responded. “I saw a shard from our failed experiments, and the reflection was much better than you can imagine. Offer these to the right noble or wealthy merchant, and I’m sure they’ll pay several gold coins to have one.”

That news brought a smile to the faces of the council. Jason chuckled, saying, “I’m sure that’s not a commentary on the vanity of the upper class, right, Alex?”

“Of course not, my lord. I wouldn’t dream of it,” the man replied, but his grin matched the lord’s.