The quiet tension in the Duke's Keep thickened in the days following my "mistake." The Duke, a man usually burdened by the manifest duties of his office, now carried an unspoken weight. His frown lines deepened, his gaze often distant, lost in thought. My small act had successfully nudged his pragmatic mind towards the economic discrepancies, shifting his focus from external banditry to internal leakage.
I observed him meticulously from the periphery of his study, my wooden toys scattered about me as camouflage. He spent hours poring over old ledgers, comparing recent inventories of resources with historical records. He dispatched couriers with unusual frequency, likely to the eastern territories or to other noble houses for their own economic reports. A quiet investigation was underway, its genesis a dog-eared page and a misplaced royal decree.
Valerius, ever the predator, seemed to sense the shift in the Duke's demeanor. He appeared more often in the Duke's study, ostensibly for discussions on matters of faith or court politics. His eyes, however, would frequently flick towards the Duke's desk, lingering on the piles of documents, then subtly drift to me, a small, innocent child at play. He was watching, waiting, an unseen pressure.
One afternoon, the Duke summoned his Master of Coin, a wizened, meticulous man named Lord Arlen. I was present, building a precarious tower of blocks near the fireplace, ostensibly oblivious.
"Lord Arlen," the Duke's voice was low, strained, "I need a comprehensive report on all iron shipments from Eldoria over the past two seasons. Compare it with the declared tithes to the Church and the needs of our garrisons. I want every single ingot accounted for."
Lord Arlen bowed. "A difficult task, Your Grace. The Church's records are... opaque."
"Opaque, or deliberately obscured?" the Duke muttered, more to himself than to Arlen. He slammed a fist lightly on his desk. "Just get me the numbers. I want to know where our kingdom's strength is truly going."
My internal system hummed with satisfaction. The Duke was investigating. But his frustration at the "opaque" records presented my next opportunity. I needed to provide a clearer, undeniable piece of the puzzle.
That evening, I set my next gambit. During Seraphina's reading time, she was showing me an old, beautifully illustrated book of heraldry, detailing the crests and lineages of various noble families. Her focus was on the vibrant colors and elaborate designs, while my gaze drifted to the blank space at the back of the book, where a family tree might logically be placed.
"Seraphina," I mumbled, tugging gently on her sleeve, "can Elias draw a better tree here? Like a tall, strong tree?"
"Oh, Elias, you want to draw?" she chuckled, delighted by my apparent artistic inclination. "Of course. But you must be careful with Father's books." She handed me a charcoal stick and the heavy book, then turned her attention to a tapestry that needed mending.
I found a quiet corner. Instead of a tree, my fingers, guided by my adult mind, meticulously etched a simplified, yet clearly identifiable map of Eldoria onto the back flyleaf. I marked the key iron vein with a crude cross. Then, next to it, I drew two small, crude bags. One was full, overflowing, labeled with the triangle symbol for the Church. The other, significantly smaller and nearly empty, was marked with the Duke's family crest. It was a stark, visual representation of the siphoning, undeniably clear to anyone with knowledge of the region and the kingdom's finances. It looked like a child's crude drawing, but its message was precise.
The risk was immense. If discovered before the Duke saw it, it could expose my intelligence. But if he found it, nestled within a book about noble lineage, it would provide a visceral, visual confirmation of his growing suspicions. I left the book casually on a low table in the Duke's study, seemingly forgotten after a child's playtime.
The relentless pressure of maintaining my disguise was immense, but the image of the Duke's strained face, and the cold calculations of Valerius, fueled my resolve. The battle for this world was not fought with swords, but with information, perception, and the subtle manipulation of truth. My small, hidden hand was pushing the first domino.