Location: Oslo County Capital – Central Administration Hall, Market District
Time: Day 367 After Alec's Arrival
The council bell tolled once.
In the newly reopened central administration hall—an aging colonnade building at the center of the Oslo County Capital—Elira stood beside Alec at the long marble table, sleeves rolled, a series of hand-rendered schematics laid out in strict alignment before them.
Her voice rang with clear, tempered authority.
"We begin with the arterial roads. If the capital cannot move, it cannot eat, cannot breathe, cannot live. The south-east road between the market and the northern gate is impassable by cart during frost. We reroute and stone-pave."
"Agreed," Alec said, pointing to the corresponding inked segment on the parchment. "But raise the roadbed six inches. Subdrainage channels every ten meters. I've already requisitioned basalt stone from Midgard's eastern quarry stock."
Captain Meren, positioned just behind Elira's right shoulder, frowned. "And who oversees the labor? We don't have enough masons for two miles, let alone an entire capital overhaul."
Alec didn't look up. "We don't need masons. We need taught hands. Stone-paving is a pattern system. With proper scaffolds and alignment jigs, any able-bodied worker can be brought to standard within a week."
"A week?" Meren scoffed. "That's optimistic."
"No," Alec said, finally lifting his gaze. "It's designed."
Elira allowed herself the smallest smirk. "I'll issue the conscription call tomorrow. Work-to-pay, three-week rotation. We start with volunteers from the lower quarter. Incentive: food credit and early tax remission."
Baxt, the treasurer, let out a low, disapproving hum from his usual shadowed corner.
"Forgive me, Countess, but giving coin back to citizens is rarely good precedent."
"Then consider it investment," Alec replied. "Or would you rather lose twice as much grain every month to cart slippage and collapsed wheels?"
Baxt blinked. Alec didn't wait.
"Sanitation next," he continued, unrolling the second scroll. A map of the sewer lines—or what passed for them. "The main waste outflows from the tanneries and fishmongers loop beneath the grain storage quarter. Right now, they're clogged, leaking into the subcellars. Two cases of fever reported last week."
Alvenne, the chamberlain, paled slightly.
"We disinfect?" she asked.
"No," Alec said. "We excavate. And reroute."
She looked horrified. "That will require structural tear-downs. Half the storage quarter will need—"
"Staged demolition," Elira said, cutting in. "Three buildings per rotation. Temporary hold houses in the upper district. Alec, can we build modular stalls fast enough?"
"Yes," he replied. "Prefabricated panels. I'll design with interlocking frames—eight hours to raise a full shelter."
"Design it tonight."
"Already done."
Milla, the cook, had wandered in midway through the session, apron still on, a basket of pickled radish on her hip.
"You two planning to tear up the whole capital, or just the bits we breathe through?" she asked dryly.
"Just the arteries," Elira said, not missing a beat.
"Well, you might want to reroute the bread carts if you're going to gut the grain quarter," Milla added, planting the basket beside Alec's plans. "And give me a heads up next time you use vinegar wash in the kitchens. The guards near fainted from the stench."
Alec blinked. "I'll adjust the disinfectant mix. Lime and ash should suffice."
"See that it does," she muttered.
Alec's pen scratched quickly as he noted the chemical shift.
Elira tapped the final scroll forward. "Security."
Everyone sobered.
"We've had two minor breaches on the north perimeter. Tools missing. A guard found drugged, not killed. Whoever they are, they're testing response time, not blood."
Alec's tone hardened. "That will stop."
Meren folded his arms. "You want tighter gates?"
"No," Alec said. "I want smarter ones."
He reached down, drew up a secondary schematic: guard posts redesigned in tiered coverage grids.
"New patrol patterns. Staggered shifts. Two-man routes, alternating paths. I'll integrate watch towers with semaphore signals. If a runner sees trouble, every rooftop in the district will know in thirty seconds."
Meren looked impressed. He didn't say it.
"And the men?" he asked. "We don't have the numbers."
Elira stepped forward. "We train new ones. And we pay them well."
Baxt's pen snapped in his hand.
Elira didn't flinch.
"A guard who knows his daughter will eat every day fights harder," she said. "Double ration for militia enlistees. Monthly inspection. Midgard-grade armor."
Alec added, "And if needed, we convert part of the western stables into a barracks. It's underused."
Gerren, who had remained silent until then, finally cleared his throat.
"May I suggest," he said, "a ceremonial oath for the new guard class. Public recitation. Let the people see they're not brutes, but blades sworn to the regent."
Elira smiled. "Excellent. Make it happen."
Baxt stood slowly, grumbling.
"All of this will cost."
"Not as much as doing nothing," Alec replied. "We've already lost more in rot, theft, and delay than the first phase will cost to implement."
Baxt didn't answer.
Because he knew.
As the others began to disperse, murmuring about tasks and supply lists, Elira remained behind.
Alec rolled the last scroll with silent precision.
"You handled them well," she said.
"I don't handle. I deploy."
She laughed softly.
"You speak of people like machines."
He paused. "Not machines. Systems. Living ones."
She leaned forward, lowering her voice.
"And me? Am I a system too?"
He met her gaze.
"You are the force that keeps the system from collapsing."
Her lips parted.
He didn't touch her.
But gods, she thought. He almost didn't need to.
She stepped back, breath even.
"Meet me in the lower quarter tomorrow. I want the people to see us walking the new road. Side by side."
"Yes, Countess."
"Elira."
He blinked.
"Yes. Elira."
And when he left, she stayed.
Just long enough to trace her finger along the grain of the table where his hands had been.
And whispered to no one:
"Yes. This will work."