After paying the money, the customs officer stamped the paper Bill had brought and returned it to him, instructing him to keep it safe. This note confirmed that the customs duties for his goods had been paid. Anyone else checking would only need to present this note.
"Thank you very much. I'll go back and get my goods," Bill said, feeling a rush of relief and joy.
Bill had only paid half the tariff, which naturally left him elated. Holding the note, he couldn't help blurting out words of gratitude as though the privilege had come entirely free of cost.
This was exactly what Gaimon had intended. After all, who could resist paying less than expected? Initially, Gaimon had planned to lower the import tax to attract more merchants to Wendeling. However, he reconsidered. Reducing tariffs immediately and then raising them later might cause resistance among merchants. Instead, it was wiser to set tariffs at a standard level first and later offer reductions in the form of rebates. This way, merchants would develop a psychological expectation of the tariff, and future adjustments would feel like rewards rather than setbacks.
Bill left the customs tower, the receipt in hand, and returned to John, who had been patiently waiting nearby.
"I've paid the customs duties. What's the next step?" he asked.
John's face brightened at the news. "Master, do you still have the note I gave you? The tax officer told me to present that note to collect the goods after payment."
"Here it is. Don't lose it. This piece of paper cost me over twenty silver deer—I'd be heartbroken if it went missing," Bill said with a mix of pride and slight irritation at the cost.
John carefully took the receipt from him, treating it with respect. "Master, should we find a warehouse first? If we don't, once we retrieve the goods from the dock, there won't be anywhere to store them. The beer might go bad if left out in the open."
"Do I need a reminder?" Bill replied, shaking his head. "I've already asked around at the docks. Some of the houses along the coast are warehouses. Let's rent one for temporary use. We can make long-term plans once we've settled."
With that, Bill and John walked toward a nearby building. The warehouse district was not far—only about twenty meters from the riverbank—so they arrived quickly.
The houses along the dock were mostly three-story structures with wooden frames filled with mud, giving them a solid, durable appearance. The sides facing the dock were open, allowing merchants to display goods under linen and wooden awnings, which offered shade from the blazing sun. Pedestrians wandered past, creating a constant flow of potential customers.
Scanning the shops, Bill's eyes fell on a hotel. He decided it would be a good place to stay and led John toward it.
Before they could even enter, a well-dressed man in his forties with thick brown hair approached them with a warm smile.
"Are you two here to stay or dine?" he asked. "I'm David, the manager of this hotel. David Corbray—welcome!"
"We'll be staying. I need a guest room for myself and my servant," Bill replied.
"Certainly, sir. We have a special master bedroom available. The best room costs one silver deer per night, while the smaller rooms are three bronze stars per night. Which would you prefer?"
Bill's initial instinct was to stay in the best room, but the cost was too high for his current budget. He nodded politely and said, "A three-star room for the two of us tonight will suffice."
"Very well, please follow me," David said with a bright smile, leading them inside. He clearly understood the value of every guest, no matter how modest their choice. The hotel even had rooms priced far lower, for travelers willing to share a large dormitory-style space.
David explained as he guided them upstairs, "The best rooms are all on the second floor. The first floor has large communal rooms, the third floor has smaller single rooms, and the second floor offers easy access without climbing too many stairs, keeping you off the damp ground."
The wooden stairs creaked under their feet as they ascended. At the top, an aisle stretched before them with doors spaced unevenly along the corridor. Bill instinctively guessed that rooms with larger gaps between them were the better ones.
David stopped at a door in the middle of the corridor, fished out a set of keys, and unlocked it.
"This is the room you requested. Please come in."
Bill stepped inside, and the first thing that caught his attention was the open window overlooking the river. Merchant ships drifted along the water, creating a lively scene.
He took a few moments to survey the room. It was modest, about 17 to 18 square meters, with simple furnishings. A desk over a meter long sat by the window with a chair tucked behind it. In the center stood a large bed, 1.8 meters wide, with a neatly folded quilt. Near the door was a smaller bed, about one meter wide, likely for his servant. A wardrobe stood against the wall near the entrance, and a wooden barrel with a lid was placed underneath, presumably for nighttime convenience.
The room was clean and free of strange odors, leaving Bill satisfied.
"This will do," he said with approval.
"Excellent. Shall we settle the payment first? We don't know how long you'll be staying," David suggested.
"I'll stay three days for now. If I need more time, I'll pay extra," Bill said, handing over another silver deer.
David accepted the payment graciously. "By the way, we also offer simple meals. You can dine in your room or downstairs in the lobby. Special requests are welcome for a small additional fee."
Bill smiled, appreciative of the hospitality. "We'll consider meals later. Right now, I have a few matters to discuss," he said, setting the stage for the next step of their plan.
As Bill and John settled into the room, the lively sounds of the dock below reminded them that Wendeling was already bustling with trade. Ships creaked, merchants shouted, and the occasional clink of coins echoed from nearby stalls. It was a vibrant scene, full of opportunities and challenges alike.
Bill glanced around the room again, noting the layout and available space. The large bed would serve him well for rest, while the smaller one would be sufficient for John. The desk provided a workspace for letters, calculations, or planning, and the wardrobe could store their limited belongings. Everything seemed functional, simple, yet adequate for their immediate needs.
Once they had settled in, Bill drew the curtains back fully and looked out the window. The river reflected the golden hues of the setting sun, and he could see several merchant ships docked along the riverbank, their crews busy unloading goods. Traders were haggling over prices, carrying barrels and crates to the various warehouses. The air smelled faintly of salt, wood, and the tang of beer from nearby breweries.
John, meanwhile, had already begun examining the smaller bed, checking the linens and arranging his belongings. "This will do for now," he said quietly, nodding in satisfaction.
Bill turned back to the room, letting out a small sigh. For the first time in days, he felt a sense of relief. The customs hurdle had been cleared, and they now had a temporary base from which they could manage their goods and plan the next steps.
David, sensing they were settled, gave them a polite nod. "If you need anything, just ring the bell or come downstairs. I'll make sure your stay is comfortable."
"Thank you," Bill replied. "We'll call if anything comes up."
After David left, Bill sat at the desk by the window, pulling out the customs note once more to examine it. He carefully checked the numbers, the stamps, and the officer's signature, making sure everything was in order. Satisfied, he returned it to his pocket. This small piece of paper represented a huge step in securing his business.
John looked out the window over Bill's shoulder. "Master, the beer won't last long if left on the dock. Should we start moving it to the warehouse tomorrow morning?"
"Exactly. Tomorrow morning, we'll take the receipt to the dock and start unloading our goods. Once everything is in the warehouse, we can plan for storage, distribution, and sales."
As they spoke, Bill's mind wandered to the future. Wendeling had potential, but success wouldn't come without effort. Each decision, each investment, each negotiation would shape how profitable this venture could become. He thought about how he might attract more merchants, build relationships with local traders, and leverage the moderate tariff system Gaimon had devised.
The room, though modest, provided a quiet retreat where Bill could focus on such plans. The river outside offered both a scenic view and a reminder of the commerce that fueled the city. With a servant close at hand, and temporary accommodation secured, Bill finally felt ready to begin his work in earnest.
As evening fell, the sounds of the river and the dock continued their constant rhythm. Ships rocked gently in the water, traders called out last-minute offers, and the sun painted the sky in shades of gold and crimson. Bill leaned back on the chair, taking a deep breath. The customs challenge had been conquered, and now the real work awaited—transporting the goods, securing the warehouse, and eventually making Wendeling a hub of trade.
"Tomorrow," he murmured to himself, "everything begins in earnest."
John nodded silently beside him, ready to follow his master's lead. Together, they were prepared to face the challenges ahead, starting with the unloading of goods and the careful management of their new venture. The hotel room, though temporary, had become a place of strategy, rest, and preparation—the small but crucial foundation of their unfolding enterprise.
With plans beginning to take shape and a temporary home secured, Bill finally allowed himself to relax. The adventure in Wendeling had officially begun, and with careful planning and diligence, success was within reach.
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