The “northwest” sector was the main area of the Faire. It was a large, mostly cleared area that snuggled up against the northeast hills. On the top of the hills were a few permanent buildings devoted to the Faire. The “northeast” sector, across the creek from the Faire, had been wooded, as had all the hills. Many people preferred to pitch their tents over on that side of the valley during Faire, to get away from some of the crowding and the noise in the main Faire area.
Near the center of all four “zones” was the town of Raven’s Mill, which had consisted of about five large home/workshops, the tavern and some outbuildings.
Now it had all, seemingly, changed. The Faire area was being slowly covered in rough wooden buildings, mostly made from half-formed logs. There were gangs of workmen assembling two buildings even as they paused. The northeast quadrant was, apparently, supplying much of the material, for there were gangs on that side of the stream stripping it of trees, grubbing up the roots and otherwise clearing the land. There were even some buildings going in over there. The town itself showed signs of building as well, with at least two new buildings under construction. All in all, it seemed entirely transformed.
Then Rachel noticed that some of it hadn’t changed. There was, still, the large cleared area around Edmund’s house and Myron’s fields hadn’t been touched. She was glad that something, at least, hadn’t changed. Then she noticed that up by the mill there were new buildings. So it wasn’t some protective spell that stopped the changes at a line through the town.
“What are those?” she asked, pointing at the distant buildings.
“I see they got the sawmill working,” Tom replied. “Fast work.”
“Do you think we could actually head down there?” Daneh said, tiredly.
“Of course, m’lady,” Tom replied, looking over his shoulder at Herzer. “I’m going to take the ladies up to the house. There’s going to be a reception area down there. You should go there.”
“Okay,” Herzer replied. “I… I guess I’ll see you all later.”
“Even with this many people it will be hard to miss you, Herzer,” Daneh replied. “Take care.”
“And you, ma’am,” the boy said, waving a hand as he walked down the road.
“I wonder where Edmund is?” Daneh said, looking around the scene of industry.
“He didn’t come looking for us, why should we come looking for him?” Rachel said nastily.
Daneh didn’t even bother to reply. Since the incident with McCanoc, Rachel had been getting more and more bitter about her father’s “failure.”
“He’ll either be down at the town hall or up at the house,” Tom said uncomfortably.
“Let’s go to the house,” Daneh said. “All I want to do is take a bath and go to bed.”
Edmund was hosting still another meeting at his home when he looked out the window and saw the small cavalcade proceeding up the hill.
The endless meetings all came down to lacks; lack of materials, lack of farmers and lack of skilled labor. The shipment of metal from Angus had melted rapidly in the face of various needs, from fittings for wagons to the parts for the new sawmill. And even as fast as it was dwindling there wasn’t enough metal for all the needs or enough smiths to shape it all.
And they hadn’t even started on weapons or armor.
He knew what was really needed, but so did everyone else on the town council and in some cases what they “knew” was different from what he knew. And in some of those cases it wasn’t really a matter of right and wrong. Take the new farm program. There were a few protofarmers whom Myron considered marginally qualified to start a farm. And that acceptance had been grudging. So they were, under regulations so new the ink hadn’t dried, eligible for loans to set themselves up farming. None of them had anything to trade so it all had to be loaned.
There were things, besides land and seed, that every farmer needs. Arguably, the only other things that he needs are an axe and a hoe. But having a draft animal and a plow made for much more efficient farming. So did rope. And being able to fix some of his own equipment was helpful, so arguably he should have some blacksmith tools. Then there was how to get the produce to town, so maybe he should have a wagon.
But that was definitely getting into the category of “too much” to loan to a complete unknown. Based upon historical precedent it was expected that at least sixty percent of the “pioneer” farmers would fail. Given the problems that they were up against, that percentage was probably optimistic. Based on more similar precedents they could look at eighty to ninety percent. So that meant that between six and nine in ten of the farmers would be unable to recoup whatever they were loaned. Now, if they were loaned more, more seed, more tools, more draft animals, they were likely to be more successful. But that meant fewer seeds, tools and animals to loan to others. Who got what and how much was at the basis of the arguments.
The argument wasn’t going to be resolved today or tomorrow or maybe in a month. Maybe not until harvest time or next year. But it had been raging almost nonstop for a week. All of the council meetings had been fixated on farm policy and so had the last town meeting. And that was another sore point with Edmund.
After the first meeting in the tavern, people had taken it as expected that he’d turn up at every such meeting. For the first week there had been one every other day until he pointed out that he had other things to be doing. At which point the term “dictator” had first been raised, initially by a few of the more loudmouthed of the new arrivals but later in mutterings even among some of the long-term residents of Raven’s Mill.
It had started with his “high-handed” decision to put Bethan Raeburn in charge of the treasury. She had taken up the handling of the commissary from the beginning and as food chits had quickly turned into currency, it had only made sense for her to continue applying her practical knowledge and increasing experience in handling them. Oh, but that did not sit well with some of the new arrivals. Brad Deshurt had been a researcher in preinformation technology economies and had made plain, with a large number of polysyllabic words, that the basis of Raeburn’s plans were inflationary and would otherwise cause the world to end. As if it hadn’t already. Deshurt was just about the only person Edmund had ever met who was frankly obese and he remained “fleshy” even after walking all the way from the region of Washan. Edmund was rather sure that the basis of Deshurt’s animus was that Bethan refused to let people have seconds.
Nonetheless, under fire and holding their positions with difficulty, Bethan hung on to the treasury and, remarkably, the sky had yet to fall. What was worse, Deshurt had somehow argued his way into a position of “expert on everything” and it had turned out to be impossible to shake him. Edmund was pretty sure that he was going to run in the next council election and since the world seemed to hate him, the loudmouth was probably going to win.
However, above and beyond Edmund’s decisions with regards to the treasury and who should run it, his cut-the-Gordian-knot approach to farm policy was considered even more evil. Edmund knew that he had, at most, a vague layman’s knowledge of period farming. To him the difference between, say, Republican Roman farming conditions and those of the Middle Ages existed only as a backdrop to the social, political and military climate of each age.
But in each of those periods the farming techniques influenced the military at least as much as the reverse. So he was well aware of what sort of farming he wanted to occur and what sort he didn’t. Fortunately he and Myron were in agreement, for similar reasons, and while Edmund knew next to nothing about farming, if there was anyone with more knowledge than Myron among the refugees, Edmund had yet to find them. So he put Myron in charge of making the decisions.