Somewhat at the head of the line were the vagrants Cora and Raesinia had handed out bills to the night before. They had served as the pebbles that, tossed onto a snowy slope, dislodge a growing, rolling avalanche of ice and dirt that flattens villages in the valley below. Raesinia watched with an odd mix of awe and terror as the thing she’d created roared onward, devouring everything in its path.
It was all about fear, Cora had explained. Banks were built on trust, and the antithesis of trust was fear. Even with the profits she’d made, they didn’t have enough capital to hurt a behemoth like the Second Pennysworth. But a little priming of the pump, combined with the magic of Danton’s voice, meant they didn’t have to.
Inside the bank, some poor manager was watching his worst nightmares come true. In theory, anyone who held one of those bills was entitled to turn up at the door, whenever they liked, and demand actual clinking metallic stuff in exchange. The bank’s very existence was predicated on its ability to meet these promises. In practice, of course, only a few people would do this, but every banker lived in fear of the day that the people who had entrusted him with their money turned up en masse to demand it back. For the Second Pennysworth, that day was today. Every man in the queue had a bill he wanted paid now, for fear the bank would not be around tomorrow to pay it. Every bill had to be met with coin from the cashiers, with strained, frozen smiles. But there was not enough coin in the vaults for everyone, and the crowd knew it.
Shortly after opening, a Second Pennysworth official had come out to proclaim, nervously, that the bank was completely sound and no one had anything to worry about. He’d even tried a little joke, to the effect that if people wanted to set fire to bills of his bank, that was completely all right with him, since it would after all only make it sounder.
It hadn’t helped. Everyone knew that bank managers only said things like that when they were worried; when the banks actually were sound, they sat in their offices and met complaints with an angry, scornful silence. Everyone in the Triumph had heard Danton’s speech, then watched a squadron of determined-looking people march across to the Exchange and head straight for the Second Pennysworth to turn in their bills. That was enough for many, and the sight of the queue stretching out past the doors tipped the balance. The bank had become a sinking ship, and no one wanted to be the one left without a lifeboat.
“There’s a line at the Crown, look,” Cora said. “And another at Spence amp; Jackson. It’s spreading.”
“Of course,” Raesinia said. “If a respectable institution like the Second Pennysworth can go down just because someone gives a speech, then what other bank could be safe? Much better to cram your coin in a sock and hide it under your mattress.”
“I should have invested in socks,” Cora said. “Or mattresses.”
Raesinia patted her on the shoulder. “Sorry. This must be hard for you to watch.”
“Not. . exactly.” Cora looked momentarily shifty. “It has its advantages.”
Raesinia quirked an interrogative eyebrow. Cora sighed.
“I was going to tell you,” she said. “But there wasn’t time.”
“What did you do?”
“Nothing much. You know how I had to buy all those bills so we could give them away?”
Raesinia nodded.
“Well, I had to have some kind of a cover for why I wanted so much Second Pennysworth debt, or else people would have figured out something was up. So I arranged to sell Pennysworth bills at the same time, to make it look like we were just moving some investment around.”
“But if you sold the bills-”
“I arranged to sell them in the Viadre market. They’re not due for another three days. It takes time to ship the things to Borel, after all.”
“But you haven’t got the bills anymore. We gave them away.”
“Right.” Cora smiled. “Actually, when I saw the prices, I ended up selling a lot more than I ever bought.”
“So what you’re telling me,” Raesinia said, struggling to follow, “is that someone is going to be very angry with you when it turns out you’ve sold merchandise you can’t deliver?”
“Oh no!” Cora looked genuinely surprised at the idea. “No, you don’t understand. Once the bank collapses, the bills will be practically worthless. I’ll just buy the purchasers out of their contracts at a couple of pennies on the eagle. They might still be angry, but I think most of Viadre will be in a panic once the news of this gets there.”
“So. .,” Raesinia prompted.
“We get to keep the money from the sales,” Cora said, in a speaking-to-children voice. “But we don’t actually have to deliver anything.”
“So you’ve made money.”
Cora nodded.
“A lot of money?”
She nodded again, a little hesitantly. “I didn’t think I should do it without asking you first, but we didn’t have very long, and if I’d taken the time to track you down, the market would have closed. .”
“Cora,” Raesinia said, taking her hand. “Come with me.”
Cora’s face was a mask of panic as Raesinia dragged her through the balcony doors and into the suite. Sarton was still watching the crowd, but Ben was there, and Faro had brought up a canvas sack full of bottles. When he saw Raesinia, he picked up a glass flute full of sparkling white and waved it in her direction.
“Raes!” he said. “Come on! We’re celebrating!”
Raesinia took the flute from Faro and presented it to Cora.
“You deserve it,” Raesinia said. “After we win, I’m going to ask the deputies to make you Minister of Finance.”
I really will, Raesinia thought, as the teenager sipped the bubbly wine. God knows she couldn’t be worse than the last few men who’ve gotten the job. Her father had many fine attributes, but paying attention to eagles and pennies was not one of them, and his Treasury heads tended to be chosen for their political connections rather than their competence. Then there was Grieg, one of Orlanko’s minions, who’d spent the last five years building the tax farm into his private empire. A little girl would make for a nice change of pace.
“By the way,” Faro said, “I had to stash Danton in the front bedroom. We’ll have to figure out some way to get him out without anyone noticing.”
Raesinia rounded on him. “You brought him here?”
Faro shrugged. “His room at the Royal was mobbed after the speech. I couldn’t think where else to put him.” He caught Raesinia’s expression. “Relax. Nobody saw us come in.”
And how the hell would you know? Faro had a high opinion of his own skill and daring, but Raesinia had her doubts. He’s certainly no Sothe.
Ben patted her on the shoulder. “Relax, Raes. It’s just until the storm passes. Have a drink, would you?”
Raesinia sighed, but accepted a flute and sipped at the wine for form’s sake.
They still don’t take it seriously. Cora had the excuse of youth, but the rest of them. . Why am I the only one who seems worried?
Some time later, they’d emptied half the bottles, and the crowd on the Exchange was finally dispersing under the stern eyes of dozens of Armsmen.
The Second Pennysworth had suspended payments just before noon, admitting to the world that it couldn’t make good on its promises. That was the turning point Raesinia had fretted over, the instant where the crowd might turn into a mob and exact violent retribution. Fortunately for all concerned, the gradual gentrification of the panic over the course of the morning meant that by the time the bank actually failed, a good proportion of those waiting in the queue were of the well-bred classes. There were shouting matches, a little shoving, and the occasional swooning or fit of hysterics, but it was no longer the type of crowd to start hurling bricks through windows. By then, too, the Armsmen were out in force, responding with unusual rapidity to the developing crisis. Raesinia had watched the lines of green form and thicken throughout the morning, and sent up a silent thanks to whoever had organized the usually lackadaisical defenders of the peace.