Chapter 88: An Invitation
The first week after the launch of Helmarte Personal Care passed in a blur.
No one inside Helmarte Soap Works had expected demand to explode so quickly.
By the third day, emergency shipments were leaving the warehouses before sunrise and returning after sunset. The loading yard never seemed to sleep anymore. Wagons lined the roads outside the factory gates, waiting to be loaded with shampoo, toothpaste, and conditioner. Even the workers who had lived through the original soap boom admitted that this felt different.
Soap had been one product.
This was four.
Inside the headquarters, clerks occupied every available desk. Ledgers were stacked into small mountains, and messengers entered and left the building almost continuously. The distant hiss and clank of the steam engine echoed through the open windows while warehouse supervisors shouted instructions in the yard below.
Ernest sat behind his desk reading another report.
Then another.
Then another.
Finally, he put the papers down.
A smile slowly spread across his face.
A clerk standing nearby swallowed.
"Good news?"
Ernest looked up.
"Very."
The young man slid the reports across the desk.
The clerk’s eyes widened.
First-week revenue had exceeded even the most optimistic projections.
Shampoo had become an outright phenomenon.
Apparently, people enjoyed touching their hair far more than anyone expected.
Barbers had become enthusiastic advertisers. Once customers experienced softer and cleaner hair, they immediately wanted their own bottles. Several shops had begun offering "Helmarte Hair Washes" as premium services.
Toothpaste had performed almost as well.
Its success surprised everyone.
Families bought it out of curiosity.
Merchants bought it because they liked the feeling of a clean mouth.
Several inns had begun placing regular orders because guests enjoyed using it after meals.
The most surprising success, however, was deodorant.
Nobody had expected it.
Not even Ernest.
The product was expensive, positioned as a luxury item, and aimed primarily at nobles and wealthy merchants.
Instead, miners, foundry workers, and caravan guards had become some of its most loyal customers.
Apparently, nobody liked smelling bad.
Who could have guessed?
The office door suddenly opened.
Hollen entered carrying another stack of ledgers.
At this point, he looked like a man permanently trapped beneath paperwork.
"You should see this."
Ernest looked at the papers.
"Another sales report?"
"Five of them."
The older man dropped the ledgers onto the desk.
"Northport sold out."
"What?"
"Completely."
Ernest blinked.
"Already?"
"Already."
The forge owner sat heavily in his chair.
"The manager says merchants are fighting over shipments."
That got his attention.
"Fighting?"
"Verbally. Mostly."
Mostly.
That word was concerning.
Hollen opened another report.
"Ravenford wants triple its toothpaste allocation."
Another.
"Eastgate needs more deodorant."
Another.
"The military garrison in Helmarte ordered shampoo."
Ernest looked up.
"The military?"
The older man nodded.
"The officers tried it."
A slow smile appeared on his face.
The military represented one of the largest institutional markets in the kingdom.
Thousands of soldiers.
Thousands of potential customers.
And unlike ordinary people, governments purchased in bulk.
A clerk hurried into the room.
"Masters."
"Yes?"
"The Northport branch sent another message."
He handed over a sealed letter.
Ernest broke the wax and quickly scanned the contents.
Then he laughed.
"What?"
"The merchants are demanding exclusive rights."
Hollen blinked.
"Exclusive rights?"
"Several importers want to become the sole distributors of Helmarte Personal Care in neighboring kingdoms."
Silence.
The forge owner slowly leaned back.
Three years ago they had struggled to convince people to buy soap.
Today foreign merchants were competing for the right to sell their products.
Life had become strange.
Outside the window, workers loaded another shipment onto wagons.
Crates bearing the Helmarte Personal Care seal disappeared through the gates as quickly as they could be packed.
Money.
The company was practically printing it.
The first month’s projections had already been revised twice.
Then three times.
Finally, the finance department gave up trying to be conservative.
One afternoon, all senior managers gathered in the conference room.
The atmosphere felt almost festive.
The chief accountant stood beside the blackboard with several sheets of paper in his hands.
"I’ve completed the revised estimates."
Everyone looked up.
He swallowed.
Actually, he still couldn’t believe the numbers.
"The projected annual revenue from Helmarte Personal Care alone..."
He paused.
Then continued.
"...may equal the original soap business within two years."
Silence filled the room.
One manager blinked.
Another adjusted his glasses.
Hollen looked as if he had heard incorrectly.
"What?"
The accountant swallowed again.
"Assuming current growth continues, the new products could eventually become as valuable as soap."
Nobody spoke.
For several moments, the room remained completely still.
Then Hollen burst into laughter.
Not because he found it funny.
Because the numbers had become absurd again.
Everything always became absurd around Ernest.
Factories.
Steam engines.
Exports.
Two hundred million riels.
And now this.
The older man wiped his eyes.
"I remember when we celebrated earning our first ten thousand."
Several people smiled.
They remembered.
Some of them had been there.
Back when Helmarte Soap Works was a single building with a few workers and a questionable future.
Now?
The company employed thousands.
Its products were sold throughout the kingdom and beyond its borders.
Its machine division had nearly reached a valuation of one hundred million riels.
Its soap business exceeded two hundred million.
Its name had become synonymous with cleanliness.
And somehow, it was still growing.
Ernest looked out the window.
The industrial complex seemed larger than ever.
Smoke drifted from the engine house chimney.
Wagons entered and left continuously.
Workers moved like ants across the grounds.
The place felt alive.
A city within a city.
A knock interrupted his thoughts.
The door opened.
A clerk entered.
Unlike the others, he looked nervous.
Very nervous.
He held a sealed letter in both hands.
"Master Ernest."
"What is it?"
The young man swallowed.
"This arrived an hour ago."
He carefully placed the letter on the desk.
Nobody moved.
The seal immediately drew attention.
Golden wax.
A crowned lion.
The Royal Seal of Belfast.
The room became quiet.
Even Hollen’s smile disappeared.
The older man slowly looked at the letter.
Then at Ernest.
Then back again.
"I don’t think we’ve ever received one of those."
"No," Ernest said softly.
"We haven’t."
The clerk seemed almost afraid to touch it.
"It came directly from the capital."
Silence settled over the room.
Outside, the familiar sound of the steam engine continued.
Hiss.
Clank.
Hiss.
Clank.
For some reason, it seemed much louder now.
The royal family.
After three years of building factories, introducing steam engines, creating industries, and becoming one of the wealthiest companies in the kingdom...
They had finally noticed.
Ernest reached for the letter.
Then paused.
Because beneath the royal seal was a second line written in elegant handwriting.
By Order of His Majesty’s Household.
A personal invitation.
Addressed specifically to.
Master Ernest Teucher.
Nobody in the room breathed.
Hollen slowly looked toward him.
"I have a feeling," he said quietly, "that our lives are about to become much more complicated."
Ernest didn’t answer.
He simply stared at the seal.
Because deep down...
He suspected the older man was right.
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