Assembly lines

 The adult population of Belan had nearly doubled in just a day—a small army of tailors brought in from all across the barony having set up a camp on a hill near the pastures. The once rarely travelled roads of the surrounding area were now bustling with activity as wagons filled with raw materials arrived before leaving with quality textiles in just a few hours time.

Nobody from Belan was complaining of course—foreign mouths to feed and shelter simply meant more riches for the village, as shown by the newly made silk carpet that decorated the local tavern, bought at a discount in exchange for allowing a few caravan members to lodge for free.

Yes, nobody was complaining. Nobody except one.

Hugo was not a lazy person by any measures, but being forced to spend every waking moment running around with pen and paper writing down each tiny transaction and transportation that happened in a camp of over a hundred people was enough to tire anyone out. Especially so when everyone else in the caravan seemed to be completely useless with numbers.

He couldn’t help but pinch the bridge of his nose in frustration as a tailor fiddled nervously in front of him.

“How in God’s name did you manage to make thirty woolen cloaks with only five yarns?”

The man sweatdropped. “Haha, I…don’t know?”

A groan of frustration slowly left his lips as he leaned back into his chair, rubbing circles over them in a futile attempt at relieving the soreness of his eyes.

“Just…just get back to work. I’ll handle it somehow.” The tailor gave him a quick bow before scurrying away.

Only the second day, and already a dozen such incidents had risen. Coordinating over a hundred people to make standardized, high quality textiles was nearly impossible, especially so when most of their manpower was completely inexperienced. With only two weeks left before the tax reforms went into effect, the dozen or so master tailors they first contracted would simply not be enough.

Orin had come up with the ingenious idea to hire a massive number of tailors from the surrounding villages, lured in with the promise of silver and training. The ones they originally contracted were now spending most of their time making sure the newbie’s works were up to standard.

It was effective all things considered, they’ll be able to build up a sizable stockpile in just two weeks, but it still left a massive bureaucratic burden. Missing reports, disappearing materials, disappearing tailors, and quality control issues were just the beginning, more and more problems piling up with each hour.

Orin was busy setting up stores in Thorn and organizing transportation, which left old Bram to manage the workforce. There were really only four people good enough with numbers to help Bram in his endeavour, and somehow Hugo ended up being one of them.

With great reluctance the man had made him into one of his ledger keepers, proof enough of just how desperate he was. Orin kept saying he was doing great whenever they met but…

“What? You didn’t count them?! You can’t trust the reports of those fools, they’ll round to the nearest hundred and call it a day! Count every silk gown in that wagon and bring me an actual report!”

…Bram’s constant anger suggested otherwise.

Hugo thought that it really wasn’t that big of a deal, and that belief was confirmed when the actual count was only off by two from the original report. He heard the other ledger keepers grumble something similar, though of course none of them voiced their thoughts to the old man.

Not one of them were interested in being crunched along with Bram’s numbers, he was fairly certain the old man’s book was heavy enough for it to be considered a weapon.

So they simply kept with the unsustainable pace of work in the hopes that things would become more streamlined as the days passed.

They did not.

The third day was even busier than the first two, the exhaustion that had begun to settle into everyone making their work sloppier as a result. There were at least twenty incidents over the day, each one taking around an hour to resolve. Split among just five people, it ate into their time and significantly reduced the efficiency of the entire work camp.

Mother and father along with a few other villagers thankfully dropped by to help with menial tasks such as counting and calculating, though with the fall harvest nearing they also didn’t have much time on their hands. Also, Ellyn—the guardian angel that she is—made sure to keep him fed, which was more than what could be said for Bram and the others. 

The village's support made the work survivable, though he was still exhausted by the end of the day.

Overwork and desperation bred innovation, so when the fourth day was shaping up to be even worse than the third, Hugo decided that he had had enough.

“We should implement production lines.” He said to Bram early in the morning.

“What do you mean by that?” The old man didn’t even bother to look up, his gaze still fixated on his precious numbers. Hugo ignored the muted frustration in Bram’s voice, they were all tired no doubt.

“Make it so that each worker only has to do one repetitive task—have one tailor cut the pattern before handing it off for someone else to sew. With only one person doing the final touches we won’t have to run to a dozen different people to account for their work individually.” He explained.

The rumble of machinery. Three thousand people working in tandem spin the wheels of industry that would propel them into a new age. Hugo watched the boys there with envy, even if he knew deep down their lives weren’t much better than his at the mine.

He’s never worked in a factory, but he’s heard enough from the other backstreet boys to know how they generally worked.

Even if they had none of the machinery, they could still make use of assembly lines like the ones back in Britain.

One of his fellow book keepers spoke up, a gruff man no doubt in his forties. “Just get back to work kid, we don’t have time for—”

He was silenced by Bram raising a hand, a flash of surprise appearing upon his face.

“We’ll try this method of yours. It holds potential.” Was his straightforward answer. Hugo couldn’t help but gleam.

The day was still exhausting; a few tailors objected to the strange new method and many more made mistakes due to the unfamiliar routine.

Because of the production line method, a single mistake was no longer a small incident, but rather a calamity that affected dozens of people, halting work entirely at times.

He had expected Bram to yell at him for his failed idea, though no ridicule came. They simply continued with the production lines for a few days more, constantly adapting and patching up the issues that occurred in the process.

It was on the seventh day that things truly began to pick up steam, the assembly lines growing in efficiency until finally matching their original output, now with much easier bureaucracy as every product was easily accounted for.

But it didn’t stop there.

The rate of production continued to tick up as people got used to the new method, muscle memory and rapidly improving communication allowing them to eventually double their speed. There was a lot of grumbling due to how repetitive the tasks were, though Bram cared little about that.

A few silver thrown their way and all complaints were silenced, simple as that.

For his contribution Hugo was given ten gold and a high quality woolen cloak, though his family didn’t have the chance to celebrate due to how busy he was, instead promising to have a small feast at a later date.

It would have to wait for a few weeks more however. With the arrival of the awaited day wherein they opened their five stores in Thorn, Hugo got the feeling work had only just started.