29 Ash 4619
If life were easy and simple and carefree, Thomas would have spent the week waiting for Kent's Apprentice to finish binding the book by whiling away the hours in the town, chatting with the townsfolk, and drinking beer in what passed for a tavern. Unfortunately, life was hard, complex, and worrisome, so Thomas sent a missive to a contact in Leiden about the leather, and headed three days ride in that direction to facilitate a pick-up of same. He spent his evenings making nostrums: hangover cures and cold cures were good business in Frost, and he intended to collect. He wasn't flying the banner of Worth's Worthies at the moment, but if someone approached him and asked for his service, he showed them his wares, playing the part of the helpful but reluctant peddler to squeeze a bit of extra coin out of his supplicants.
He was not particularly proud of this batch -- it was just water, cheap alcohol, and some medicinal tasting herbs. There was nothing for color, and the bottles were functional but not notably helpful looking. He found a bottle with a short neck and a squat body made people more likely to buy some things, or a long, slender body with a tall neck, or a bit of a curve to it. All of them suggested different things, but ultimately it said: who would bother to put something that wouldn't work into a bottle this attractive? They were dark glass, at least, which disguised the lack of color and played up the scent. If nothing else, in more civilized places or to richer clientele, this could be sold as mouthwash or a post-prandial freshener. In Radenor, though, it wouldn't sell if it didn't cure something, so he applied it as a hangover relief, and sold through about a third of his batch as he passed through the towns between his target and Kent's workshop.
When he returned to check on the Apprentice's progress, he had the leather in hand, and had covered most of the cost of its acquisition with nostrum sales. Well, some of the cost, at least. It was better than nothing. He'd known the time and materials going into this particular job would be dear, which just meant that a lot was riding on the work of Kent's apprentice. He had a decent feeling about his chances of success, though. Even if there were some small mistakes in the copies, this could be explained away by primitive penmanship, and the Nobles, accustomed to woodcuts and printed pages, would probably believe him. As long as the materials and illustrations looked good, he was decently sure he could sell whatever the two of them came up with.
Or it could all go sideways in a heartbeat, but that was the nature of the game. He tried not to get worked up about the possibility of failure beyond doing what could be done to ensure the job was a success.
It was late afternoon and the sun was low in the sky when he checked the door to the workshop and found it open. He was pleased to find the Master gone for the day. He had business with the Apprentice, anyhow, and little use for the man who was nominally in charge, but too busy to answer a damn letter.
"Good afternoon," he called out to the workshop -- he didn't spy the Moroi immediately, but he heard the telltale signs of a craftsman at work, so he was probably bent over a desk or behind a pile of paper somewhere, applying the finishing touches to one job or another. "It's Johan. I've returned to take a look at what you've produced. I trust you've had a fine week in the interim?"
