"There must be a way to produce more. Why release so little…?"
"Why do you think Baldwin is supplying only small quantities? Think about it."
Marco clicked his tongue at his colleague.
The Venetian fondaco warehouse in Jerusalem was overflowing with goods and people.
Porters hauling cargo. Clerks sealing crates. Scribes copying correspondence.
Merchants and slaves moved constantly through the hall.
Yet what drew the eye most were the ten wooden barrels at the center.
Barrels of Elixir.
Burly guards with clubs stood watch before them.
They had been hired in haste after unknown thieves attempted to steal the shipment days earlier.
"The rarer a commodity, the higher its value," Marco muttered. "The prince understands that."
"So he split the supply deliberately between the trading houses?"
"Likely. I heard there are over a hundred barrels stored beneath the Order's headquarters."
Marco lowered his voice.
Over the past weeks, Elixir had sold as though it had wings.
Across European courts and cities.
Kings. Nobles. Knights.
All were captivated by the new "powerful" spirit.
Pirates had even begun targeting ships rumored to carry it.
Venice, Genoa, and Pisa were clawing at each other for limited stock.
"If it weren't controlled supply, why stockpile so much?"
Marco frowned.
"If only we could secure more. There's chaos in Italy and Aquitaine already. They say even Queen Eleanor, half-imprisoned as she is, has shown interest."
"England will join soon enough. Troubadours will be composing verses in its honor."
"And yet you claim Baldwin planned this?"
His colleague shrugged.
"You give the boy too much credit. He isn't even fifteen. How could he—"
"You've never stood before him."
Marco shook his head.
"There's something different about him. His eyes… it feels as though he sees straight through you."
He shuddered slightly.
"How did he know Lord Reynald would incite the desert tribes to strike Eilat?"
"Reynald running wild is hardly unusual."
His colleague laughed.
"Some knight must have warned him. Or he was simply fortunate."
"No," Marco said quietly. "There's more."
He had never once gained the upper hand in negotiations with Baldwin.
Not once.
Nor had any other merchant.
Baldwin maneuvered negotiations with a skill that left even seasoned traders speechless.
"Speak to him yourself and you'll understand."
"Well, I shall soon enough."
His colleague signaled to the workers.
Carriages and carefully selected goods were brought forward.
"We are preparing gifts. The finest and most expensive."
"Gifts? For Prince Baldwin?"
"You haven't heard? Genoa and Pisa already delivered lavish offerings."
He folded his arms.
"They're surely seeking increased supply. We cannot afford to fall behind."
"Then I'll come as well. Best to show my face again."
"Didn't you complain last time that he took your prized Arabian horse? And now you'll bring another gift?"
Marco sighed.
"There's an Arab proverb: 'If you cannot break the arm, embrace it and pray God breaks it for you.'"
"If you cannot defeat a man, better to earn his favor."
His colleague nodded gravely.
"That is how merchants survive. Direct confrontation rarely ends well."
Their conversation dissolved into the noise of labor and shouting.
"War is the continuation of politics by other means."
That was Clausewitz.
But perhaps a truer phrase would be—
"Politics is the continuation of war."
Jerusalem's palace politics felt no different from a battlefield.
The noble faction.
The royal faction.
And the emerging group centered around Guy.
Chaos layered atop chaos.
Even with Islam pressing at the gates, they bickered endlessly.
Yet somehow balance endured.
Because of Baldwin IV.
At least, that was the conclusion I reached as I stared at the chessboard.
"You seem distracted, Baldwin. Focus."
King Baldwin IV moved his rook smoothly.
My king was cornered.
An embarrassingly swift defeat.
"You've grown worse at chess. Or is something troubling you?"
"There is always something troubling me, Your Majesty. My skill simply falls short."
I smiled.
The rules of twelfth-century chess were slightly different from what I was used to.
"Enough for today."
He swept the pieces aside.
We were alone in his study.
Since my return to Jerusalem, he had summoned me often.
Evenings of chess had become routine.
He tested me constantly.
But I learned just as much.
"Heraclius is surprisingly enthusiastic about Elixir production," he said casually. "He even offered to seek papal approval in Rome."
He studied me.
"When he heard your name, he turned pale. Did something occur?"
"I'm not aware of anything unusual. Perhaps I erred at Mass."
I let the answer hang.
Of course he was shaken.
If exposed, Heraclius would lose his office—perhaps far worse.
"Hmm. In any case, Elixir's popularity is extraordinary. Petitions are reaching even me."
"Supply is under royal control," I replied with a grin.
Exactly as intended.
In Last Crusaders, economics followed the same principle as reality:
Supply and demand.
Demand for distilled spirits was surging.
Supply remained limited.
I held absolute leverage.
"I did not anticipate such enthusiasm."
"When I played as a Muslim merchant, it never reached this scale…"
Perhaps royal branding amplified it.
"The Grand Master of the Templars visited this morning," the king continued. "He requested production rights for the Order."
He leaned forward.
"What do you think?"
"It is a reasonable proposal. On one condition."
I met his gaze.
"Production must remain within Jerusalem."
If the Templars began distilling in London or Paris, the secret would spread too quickly.
"Even a modest licensing fee at this rate could purchase half of Europe," he laughed.
"But the Templars and Hospitallers are rivals. Favor one too heavily and balance may fracture."
He nodded thoughtfully.
"Very well. I shall grant the Templars production rights under identical terms."
"Elixir's appeal is unsurprising," he added. "Kings and nobles crave symbols of power."
"Gold and jewels are mere stones without an audience."
I nodded.
Elixir was no longer simply a drink.
It was prestige.
Scarcity itself had become part of its value.
"While this situation lasts, we must extract maximum benefit."
"I agree. And the greatest advantage is this—"
I smiled.
"We can give magnificent gifts at minimal cost."
He raised a brow.
"Elixir requires only wine and distillation equipment. Even counting labor, production costs are trivial compared to its selling price."
"If rewards and diplomatic gifts are given in Elixir instead of coin…"
He burst into laughter.
"Brilliant. So you deliberately limit release to maintain value?"
"Yes. But there is another reason for stockpiling."
I continued.
"To deploy at the proper moment."
"To whom? Raymond? Balian?"
Raymond of Tripoli, leader of the noble faction.
"They are possibilities… but I have another destination in mind."
Now the storm would soon break elsewhere.
"The Eastern Roman Empire."
He stilled.
"I dispatched men after our last conversation," Baldwin IV said. "Merchants confirm unrest in Constantinople."
"The young emperor is losing support. Disorder breeds opportunists."
"And if Byzantium collapses into chaos, Jerusalem loses vital support."
I nodded.
The worst scenario for the Crusader states.
"That is precisely what Saladin would desire."
"You believe you can prevent it? With Elixir?"
"With coin and Elixir, influence can be purchased."
It would not be easy.
"Yet I wish to go to Constantinople myself."
He smiled faintly.
"Convenient. There is discussion of sending an embassy. A defense pact could bind Saladin for years."
He rose.
His silver mask shifted slightly.
"Come. It is time for council."
"…Council?"
"I believe it is time the nobles are formally introduced to you."
His tone was deliberate.
"We shall discuss Byzantium together."