[ IP ] Fit for a king .

It was n't an expected duty for a scribe of the Royal Treasury to seek advice from a merchant, to inquire about the finer things in life that did not require strict regulation and accounting principles. The principles laid in his mind, Trebb calculated the cost against what his alloted budget was for his task. He waved the merchant away and scurried off. 
 
 
 As said before, he was a scribe. A *minor* scribe whose duty was to make copies of the daily tally and report to superior that was to read and translate this information to the next level up. This would go levels until it reached either the Head of the Royal Treasurer, or the Chancellor, whoever believed it was a pertinent issue. A majority of the time, it never got past Clevin, two levels up. Most expenses were expected, sometimes treated as annuities for maintenance, and sometimes balanced at a future date. 
 
 
 Today's task was not being holed up in the smallest room filled with stacks of paper. Today's task involved the complex issue of combining frugality, court fashion and a king's taste for the ungodly and most impractical of objects, *a carpet*. 
 
 
 `` Good kind friend,'' the passing merchant signaled with his smooth voice. `` I believe you are in need of... assistance?'' My dark robes and scribe's cap did n't help the fact that most bureaucrats only seek functionality in their garb. No need for the nicer things when you ca n't see them in the dark hallways. He signalled to someone on the second floor of the building behind him. A large carpet unveiled itself. 
 
 
 `` You seek something for the new king in which the coronation has struck your late adviser to somewhere between a sharp object and the afterlife?'' He work a white turban, a foreign heathen of good taste and exquisite goods. A foul trick to play on a simple minded fool as a scribe. 
 
 
 I said nothing, eyeing the carpet, waiting for a price. If there was anything I had skill in outside of copying numbers, it was a keen awareness of deception. 
 
 
 It helps in negotiation. 
 
 
 `` What do you think?'' His smug expression and far too cheery disposition grabbed at my sense. He was hiding something behind the brown cow eyes, the brown vest and beige tunic. He smelt of... wine? 
 
 
 `` I think you need to stop drinking.'' I eyed the carpet again. Far too long to fit inside of the merchant's buggy, but also too fine of a material to place on top of the caravan to the right of him. *It was stolen, and the two boys atop the bazaar were paid beggars. 
 
 
 That also meant that there was sword hand somewhere near. I gulped, thinking that I would like nothing but a cup of lukewarm tea in the basement of the office. 
 
 
 *Find a carpet! * They had told me. *What material? What kind? Where? * 
 
 
 *Figure that out yourself! Find one fit for a king! * 
 
 
 I gulped again. The sun, bearing directly overhead began searing my face as my brows furrowed together and my fear began to emerge. 
 
 
 It was going to be a long day.
