"H-honorable Lord!" Carpenter Paul and Shoemaker Jamie bowed deeply, while two dozen slum children knelt reverently. Henry had shared Sean's status as the Church's Son, leaving them tense with awe.
"Rise," Sean said, turning to the craftsmen. "Read the confidentiality contracts?"
Paul and Jamie exchanged glances, hesitant. Sean pressed: "Speak freely. Dissatisfied with the pay?"
Paul stepped forward. "We're illiterate, My Lord, but we trust Henry. The wages are generous."
"I see." Sean softened. "Work here means good pay and freedom—you can go home daily. But no leaks about your tasks. Tell others it's ordinary labor. Understood?"
"Yes, My Lord!" they chorused.
…
Sean handed over sketches: a distillation condenser for Paul, high-heeled shoe designs for Jamie. The craftsmen relaxed—no complex schematics.
Paul surprised Sean: "I built something similar years ago, during the Morning Star flood. The old viscount wanted clean water via distillation, but without the bamboo condenser."
Henry nodded. "A natural disaster that sickened many. Your design improves on it, My Lord."
"How soon can you finish?" Sean asked.
"By tomorrow afternoon with proper materials!" Paul declared.
"Excellent. Two gold coins if done on time—part bonus, part silence payment. Betray me, and you'll regret it."
Paul paled. "Not a word, My Lord."
…
To Jamie: "You're Riverside's best. Can you replicate these shoes?"
Jamie frowned at the high heels. "Wastes leather, pinches the foot. A flawed design—"
Sean cut in, solemn: "I saw these in the Light's divine realm. The gods themselves wear such shoes."
Jamie froze. "Divine footwear?!" He stared at the sketch like a holy relic, hands trembling. Paul gaped, sneaking glances.
Jamie murmured, "The elegance… the philosophy in the heel! Why didn't I see it?"
"How long to craft with monster hide?" Sean asked.
"Three weeks—tanning alone takes 15 days for monster hides."
Sean turned to Henry. "We have tanned leather for clothing?"
"Yes, My Lord, but—"
"Use it all for shoes. Buy more later. Jamie, with tanned leather?"
"Two days, My Lord. I'll work day and night."
"Good. Henry, assign helpers. Prioritize these projects."
…
That night, Sean inspected the mill. Paul measured planks for the distiller, while Jamie traced the shoe sketch with reverence. The children sorted monster hides, whispering about "divine craftsmanship."
Lucio wandered in, sniffing the air. "Smells like ambition in here. Dwarves will go mad for your 'holy alcohol.'"
Sean grinned. "And nobles for 'divine shoes.' Perception is power, Lucio. If they believe it's blessed, they'll pay double."
…
Jamie paused, staring at the heel design. "What if the Church claims heresy?"
Sean clapped his shoulder. "I am the Church's Son. Their priests will bless these shoes themselves—once they see the gold pouring in."
Jamie nodded, emboldened. "Then I'll make them perfect. Even the gods would approve."
Sean smirked. Let the rumors spread. In Yorn, faith sells better than truth.