MARKET EXPANSION

Marcus woke with his head buzzing. Printing press mechanics, ink formulations, and movable type systems swirling through his mind. He'd spent hours the night before in his dorm room, supposedly studying chemistry but actually researching medieval printing technology on obscure history forums and maker websites. The irony of using modern internet resources to recreate ancient technology wasn't lost on him.

"You're late," Aldric observed as Marcus hurried into the shop, having expected him earlier.

"Sorry. I was... researching our printing machine project." Marcus pulled out a carefully designed advertisement he'd sketched the night before. "Look at this."

The design was simple but effective. Bold lettering announcing "FINEST SOAPS IN DRAKMOOR" with decorative borders and text describing their superior ingredients and craftsmanship. Marcus had spent considerable time making the layout clear and eye-catching while keeping the text simple enough to carve.

"This is what we want to mass-produce," Marcus explained. "I want you to take this to a wood carver and have it carved exactly as shown. Every detail is important. This will literally print us money."

Aldric studied the design with growing interest. "A wood carver? That's gonna be expensive."

"Good carving is an investment. One properly carved plate can produce thousands of advertisements." Marcus paused, struck by a realization. "Oh. Ink. I didn't think about ink."

"Ink?"

"We need ink to transfer the carved design onto paper. Special ink that will spread evenly and dry quickly." Marcus felt frustrated with himself. "I'll need to figure out how to make printing ink. Tomorrow, I'll find a way."

"We're really in this deep, aren't we?" Aldric said, but he was smiling as he carefully rolled up Marcus's advertisement design.

"Completely. But if this works, we'll have a marketing advantage that no other business in Valdris possesses."

After Aldric left for the wood carver, Marcus worked on perfecting their soap formulations and began experimenting with a crude prototype of the printing mechanism. He was deep in concentration when he heard Sara's voice from upstairs.

"Hello? Aldric? I came early today to help with inventory."

"He stepped out," Marcus called up. "But you can come down if you want to see what we're working on."

Sara appeared at the basement stairs, looking curious and nervous. "I hope it's all right that I came early. I finished my other work faster than expected."

"It's fine. I could use an extra pair of hands." Marcus gestured to his printing press prototype. "I'm trying to build something that's never been made before, and I'm not sure what I'm doing."

Sara approached the contraption with fascination. It was a crude assembly of wooden planks, metal fittings, and improvised pressure mechanisms that looked like a cross between a wine press and a torture device.

"What does it do?" she asked.

"It's supposed to copy writing quickly. See, you carve words into a plate, coat it with ink, put paper on top, and press down. The words transfer to the paper."

"That's... incredible. Does it work?"

"In theory. In practice, I'm having trouble getting the pressure distribution right." Marcus demonstrated the mechanism, showing how the carved plate would fit into the press. "The pressure needs to be even across the entire surface, or the ink transfers unevenly."

Sara examined the device with genuine interest. "What if you used leather padding? Like what cobblers use for shoe soles? It might distribute pressure more evenly than just wood on wood."

Marcus stared at her in surprise. "That's... brilliant. Leather padding would conform to small irregularities in the plate while still providing firm pressure."

"I know where to get leather scraps cheaply," Sara offered. "My cousin works with a cobbler, and they always have odd pieces left over."

"Would you mind helping me test this? I know you came to do cleaning, but this might be more interesting."

Sara's face lit up with excitement. "I'd love to help! This is so much more fascinating than organizing bottles."

They spent the next hour refining the printing press prototype, with Sara proving to have practical insights about mechanical problems. Her suggestions about pressure distribution, material placement, and operational efficiency were genuinely helpful.

"You're good at this," Marcus observed as Sara adjusted the press mechanism. "Have you worked with machinery before?"

"My father was a millwright before he died," Sara explained. "I used to help him with repairs and adjustments. I learned how things fit together, how to make mechanisms work smoothly."

Marcus felt new appreciation for Sara's background and skills. She wasn't just a cleaner. She had practical mechanical knowledge that could be invaluable for their business innovations.

"Sara," Marcus said carefully, "do you think this printing machine will work? Not just the mechanics, but the whole concept of mass-producing advertisements?"

Sara considered the question. "I think it's brilliant. But I'm also worried about what happens if it doesn't work."

"Worried how?"

"For Aldric. He's investing so much hope and money in these new ideas. If they fail..." She trailed off, her concern evident.

"You care about him, don't you?"

Sara blushed but didn't deny it. "He's a good man in a difficult situation. He deserves to succeed, to rebuild his family's reputation. I just want him to be happy."

Marcus felt a pang of sympathy for Sara's unrequited feelings, but before he could respond, they heard the shop bell chime upstairs, followed by heavy footsteps and unfamiliar voices.

"Thorne!" a rough voice called out. "We know you're here somewhere!"

Marcus and Sara exchanged alarmed glances. These weren't customers.

"Stay here," Marcus whispered, moving toward the stairs to listen.

"Where is he?" another voice demanded. "He should be waiting in his business during times like these. You can't know what might happen when a merchant isn't... available."

The threat in that last word was unmistakable. Marcus crept halfway up the stairs and peered through the crack in the door. He could see two large men in rough clothing examining the shop's merchandise with proprietary interest, while a well-dressed older man with cold eyes supervised them.

"Search the place," the older man instructed. "If Thorne's not here, we'll leave a message he can't ignore."

Marcus heard the sound of bottles being knocked over and shelves being roughly searched. These men weren't just looking for Aldric. They were making a point about the consequences of his absence.

After several minutes of destructive searching, the men left, but not before the older man called out loudly, "Tell Thorne that patience has limits. Some debts can't be ignored forever."

Marcus waited until he was certain they were gone before returning to the basement, where Sara was waiting with frightened eyes.

"Who were they?" he whispered.

"I don't know, but they're not friends of Aldric's business."

Marcus felt worried about what this meant for their partnership. "Sara, has Aldric mentioned owing money to anyone? Any debts or business obligations?"

"He's mentioned creditors from his father's estate, but I thought those were being handled through normal channels."

"These men didn't seem like normal creditors."

When Aldric returned an hour later, Marcus told him about the visit. Aldric's face went pale as he listened to the description of the men and their implied threats.

"The Blackstone Brothers," Aldric said quietly. "They're... loan enforcers. They work for people who lend money outside the normal banking systems."

"How much do you owe them?"

"More than I have. My father borrowed from them when the family business was failing. I've been making payments, but with the shop's recent struggles..." Aldric gestured helplessly.

Marcus felt the weight of yet another complication. Their business partnership wasn't just about building a soap company. It was about keeping Aldric out of trouble with dangerous creditors.

That evening, Marcus arrived at the warehouse district for his night work, only to find the building dark and empty. A posted notice on the door explained that the business had closed due to "unforeseen circumstances," and all workers were directed to collect final wages at a different location the following week.

Marcus walked to the alternate address, but found only an empty storefront with no signs of activity. Owen and the entire operation had vanished without paying anyone their final wages.

Standing in the empty street, Marcus realized his already precarious financial situation had become critical. Without the warehouse income, he had no way to pay his weekly tax obligation. And his family's remaining money was dwindling rapidly.

He returned to Building 47 to find his family gathered around their small table, faces grim with worry.

"Tax collectors came by," his father explained without preamble. "Weekly assessment is due tomorrow. One silver piece per adult, as expected."

"But they also added a surcharge," Uncle Aldwin added bitterly. "Something about increased war expenses. Extra half-silver per family."

Marcus did the math quickly. With the adults in their family, the total tax obligation would consume nearly all of their remaining money from the cattle sale.

"How much do we have left?" Marcus asked.

"Two silver pieces," his grandfather replied. "After we pay the tax, we'll have enough for maybe two more weeks of food, assuming prices don't increase again."

Marcus felt the weight of responsibility pressing down on him. His academic commitments meant he couldn't take on full-time work in Valdris. The soap business wouldn't generate income for several more weeks. And now their emergency fund was being depleted by unexpected taxes.

"We'll manage," his grandfather said firmly, seeing Marcus's distressed expression. "We've survived worse circumstances than this."

But as Marcus lay in his narrow bed that night, listening to his grandfather's labored coughing and the quiet conversations of worried family members, he wondered how much longer they could manage. The printing machine project suddenly seemed like a luxury they couldn't afford, and the soap business felt desperately far from profitability.

Both of his lives were becoming unsustainable, and Marcus was running out of time to find solutions that would satisfy the demands of both worlds.