Interlude 2 – Printing Money
“Hey Mizzra, how in Yenhr’s sweaty tits did you come up with this idea?”
Cera leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, a crooked grin splitting her face. She was a scruffy thing, all wiry limbs and restless energy, with a tangle of bright red hair that looked like it had been introduced to a comb once, violently, before the comb lost. Her sharp yellow eyes gleamed with perpetual defiance, as if she were daring the world to try and rein her in.
Mizzra didn’t even look up from her desk, already feeling the headache creeping in. “Would it hurt you to speak a little more politely, Cera?”
“Yes.”
The deadpan response made Mizzra’s eye twitch. She finally lifted her gaze to glare at the other goblin, knowing full well it would have no effect. Cera, as always, was impervious to looks of disapproval, authority, or even outright threats. She just grinned, fangs poking over her lip, and rocked back on her heels.
Mizzra relented with a sigh and leaned back in her chair. “I didn't. The idea came from a peculiar customer. She came in to browse and got a bit sidetracked. I wrote down everything I could, she was surprisingly comprehensive in her description. In return, she gets a cut of whatever we make from it.”
Cera narrowed her eyes. “And you just… agreed? Who is this mysterious benefactor?”
Mizzra waved a hand. “Vivienne. The same woman causing all the rumors in town.”
That got a whistle out of Cera. “The scary one that everyone is talking about? The one with all the eyes? Yeah, alright, that tracks.” She snatched up one of the prototype pages from the desk, running her fingers over the crisp, uniform text. “And she just gave this to you?”
Mizzra nodded. “She didn’t seem interested in hoarding the idea. Said something about ‘progress needing to happen one way or another.’”
Cera snorted. “That’s rich. But to be able to mass print books… We’d be rich! We should get some of our sisters in the north in on this.”
Mizzra smirked. “My thoughts exactly. Which is why I called you here. I want you to go to the fortress and recruit some of them. This city barely has the industrial base we need to make this happen on a large scale. If we’re going to get this printing press working at full capacity, we need people who can forge the parts, lay the ink, and—”
“And people who won’t ask too many questions about where all this is coming from,” Cera finished, tossing the page back onto the desk. She cracked her knuckles and grinned. “Alright, I’m in. But I want my name on the first book we print.”
Mizzra rolled her eyes. “You don’t even write.”
“Yeah, but it’s the principle of the thing.”
Mizzra let out an exasperated groan and waved her off. “Just get it done.”
“Gonna need some funds, though. I ain’t freezing my fat tits off in the north without some muscle to get me there,” Cera said, rolling a gold coin between her fingers before flicking it back onto the desk.
Mizzra exhaled through her nose, pinching the bridge between her eyes. “That’s going to be difficult. I know a few who are familiar with the fortress, but most of them are out of the city on… other business.”
“Yeah, most,” Cera echoed, tossing herself lazily into the chair across from Mizzra, boots propped up against the desk like she owned the place. “Gimme some money, and I’ll find a couple of trustworthy mercs for this. Serkoth’s got better options than most.”
Mizzra had to concede that point. One of the reasons she had settled in this city was the sheer number of skilled hands available for hire. That, and the small detail that it was ruled by a gods-damned demigod. That sort of thing tended to keep certain annoyances at bay.
With a sigh, she pulled a small iron-bound chest onto the desk, producing a key from the leather strap around her collar. The lock clicked open, and she sifted through the neatly stacked contents, retrieving a respectable pile of gold and silver coins before sliding them across to Cera.
“Use that for operational costs,” she said curtly.
Cera snatched the coins up, weighing them in her palm before tucking them away. “Yeah, that should do.”
“Good. Now get out,” Mizzra said, already turning her attention back to the parchment in front of her. “I have actual important matters to deal with.”
Cera laughed, pushing herself up from the chair with a stretch. “Yeah, yeah. Try not to miss me too much.”
Cera gave a mock salute and turned to leave, already muttering to herself about the best way to sweet-talk their northern kin into joining in on the scheme.
Mizzra leaned back in her chair, fingers drumming against the stack of freshly printed pages. The ink had dried smooth and dark, the uniformity of the letters almost eerie in its precision. This machine—this printing press—had the potential to upend everything. Books were power. Knowledge had always belonged to the few, hoarded by nobles, scholars, and the obscenely wealthy.
But if she could make books commonplace?
The thought sent a shiver up her spine. For once, it wouldn’t be the humans, the elves, or the Serkoth who dictated the course of progress. This time, it would be goblins leading the charge.
The fortress would have to be involved. That was unavoidable. Serkoth was a fine city, but it lacked the raw infrastructure to take this project to its full potential. The fortress, hidden deep in the northern wastes, was the only place with the forges, the presses, and the skilled hands needed to build more of these machines in bulk. The problem was, the fortress didn’t just open its gates to any wild scheme. Even she, who had once called it home, would need more than ambition to convince them.
She needed proof.
Mizzra pulled a fresh sheet of parchment toward her and dipped her quill into ink. A letter wouldn’t be enough—she had to send something real. A prototype press, a stack of printed pages, something tangible to put in the hands of the engineers and quartermasters who ran the fortress like a well-oiled machine.
If they saw what this machine could do, they’d understand.
They had to understand.
Mizzra spent the next few days calling in favors, ensuring the samples were made to her specifications. They didn’t need to be perfect, just presentable. The fortress could refine the process once they saw its potential, but for now, her contacts needed proof of concept—printed pages, a few bound books, and a partially assembled press to demonstrate the mechanics. Everything was ready the day before Cera was set to leave.
“These are the samples,” Mizzra said, setting a sturdy wooden crate on the table before her. She barely spared a glance at the two figures flanking Cera.
Ruta and Null. Sisters.
Ruta, the taller of the two, had a wiry frame built for speed, her dark grey fur sleek and well-groomed despite the patchwork of scars across her arms. Her ears twitched at the slightest sound, her sharp yellow eyes constantly scanning the room, as if expecting a fight to break out at any moment. She moved with an almost unnatural stillness, the kind that only came from knowing exactly when to strike.
Null, by contrast, was built like a wall. Stocky, broad-shouldered, her thick fur a few shades darker than her sister’s. Unlike Ruta, who carried knives hidden beneath her coat, Null carried no visible weapons—she was the weapon. Her arms were crossed over her chest, claws tapping idly against her bracers, the long scar running down her left forearm standing out stark against the fur. Her tail flicked once, betraying her impatience.
Mizzra had heard about them. They’d been involved in smuggling their kin out of the west. That wasn’t why she cared.
They knew about the fortress.
And while Cera was an insufferable, crass loudmouth, she wasn’t an idiot. If she trusted them to make the journey, that meant something.
Mizzra let the lid of the small crate rest open just enough for them to see the neatly lined types side by side inside. “Your job is to get this to the fortress intact and into the hands of the right people. No detours, no distractions. This could change everything for us.”
Cera scoffed, crossing her arms. “Yeah, yeah, I got it. ‘Course, if we get jumped on the way, these papers ain’t gonna stop a knife in the ribs.”
Mizzra slid a pouch across the table. “That’s for protection. Spend it wisely.”
Ruta caught the pouch mid-slide, weighing it in her palm before nodding. “We’ll get it there.”
Null grunted. Short. To the point.
Mizzra studied them carefully. The northern wastes were brutal, the road treacherous, and the fortress wasn’t the sort of place to welcome outsiders lightly—even they would need to prove themselves.
But if they succeeded…
The door chimed as someone stepped inside, the soft jingle cutting through the low murmur of conversation. Mizzra’s demeanor shifted in an instant. Her usual sharp-eyed intensity smoothed into something more inviting, a well-practiced smile settling onto her face as she turned to greet the newcomer.
“Welcome. How may I help you?”
The man who entered was well-dressed, his finely tailored coat and polished boots marking him as a merchant—one of the many who passed through Serkoth on business. He carried himself with the easy confidence of someone accustomed to wealth, but there was a stiffness to his movements as his gaze flicked between Mizzra, the two lekine mercenaries, and Cera.
“Ah, just looking for a book on alchemy,” he said after a brief hesitation. His eyes lingered on the crate still sitting open on the counter. “I can wait if you need…?”
Mizzra didn’t so much as glance at Cera or the sisters. Instead, she waved a dismissive hand. “Nonsense. These customers were just on their way out.”
Cera didn’t miss a beat. “Yeah, thanks for the book. I’ll be back for the next volume in about a month.”
Mizzra’s brows lifted slightly. That was quick. Either Cera was confident, or she had great faith in the sisters. Maybe both.
Ruta and Null exchanged a glance before Null gave a curt nod, reaching for the crate. The two moved with wordless efficiency. Cera clapped Mizzra on the shoulder in passing, flashing a sharp-toothed grin before striding toward the door.
The merchant exhaled slowly, tension easing from his shoulders as the trio departed.
Mizzra let the door close fully before turning her attention back to him. “Now then. Alchemy, was it?”