The sign across the highway advertised seven denari per horse.
In the previous chapter, I had secured sixty bundles of firewood and twenty baskets of charcoal. Delaying the purchase had saved us one hundred forty denari, and we'd managed to stock up on winter fuel before the next price increase.
The next morning, the neighboring inn cut its lodging fee to half a denari and its horse fee to seven denari.
"Are we lowering ours, too?"
Maren asked without taking her eyes off the sign.
"No."
"The guests will go there."
"We'll look at the numbers and see which guests leave and which stay."
A night's stay cost one denari. One horse cost ten. If we cut only the price for people in half, we could change how we divided the cost of meals and rooms.
But if we lowered the horse fee to seven denari, three denari for oats and four denari for dry straw would wipe out the entire amount for one horse.
With six horses, revenue would be forty-two denari. Eighteen for oats, twenty-four for straw. Nothing left over.
"It's not a price worth bringing in guests if it means emptying the stable."
Maren gripped the nail holding up the sign.
"They're bringing in guests at seven denari."
"What we feed the horses after bringing them in is a separate matter."
A price cut looked like a number that would increase the number of guests.
But if we didn't look at the oats and straw used inside the inn, every additional guest would bring an additional gap.
I looked at the stable instead of the sign out front.
The water trough was clean. The straw was dry. The locked storage room held the guests' cargo.
There were things the inn could keep besides its prices.
We weren't joining the price war today.
It wasn't a matter of refusing to lower the price. We had to decide first what the price was meant to preserve.
Even if a room cost half a denari, we wouldn't cut the straw for the horses. Even if the horse fee was ten denari, we wouldn't leave cargo out in the rain.
Before changing the numbers on the sign, I counted what was inside the stable.
Before noon, two travelers stopped in front of the inn.
"The place next door is half a denari. This one is one denari?"
"One denari."
"Twice as much."
"For the room alone, yes, it's twice as much."
I pointed toward the stable.
"A horse is ten denari. That includes oats, water, and dry straw. You can put your cargo in a locked storage room."
"The place next door is seven denari."
"Decide after you see whether your horse will be standing in the morning and whether your cargo will stay dry."
One of the travelers peered into the neighboring inn's stable. The other looked at our water trough.
If you were only comparing prices, seven denari was cheaper.
For six horses, it was eighteen denari cheaper. But both inns still needed eighteen denari for oats and twenty-four denari for straw.
At seven denari per horse, six horses brought in forty-two denari. The necessary expenses were forty-two denari. Nothing remained for the inn.
"Can you make it half a denari for the people only?" one traveler asked.
"If we have an empty room tonight, we'll make it half a denari. The horse fee is ten denari," Maren replied.
I nodded. It was better to fill an empty room for half a denari than leave it empty. There was no need to lower the horse fee along with it.
The travelers came back from the neighboring inn.
"There was straw floating in their water trough."
"Ours has been cleaned."
"Where can we put our cargo?"
"In a locked storage room."
The traveler lifted two boxes.
"Two horses, two rooms."
The horse fee was twenty denari. Oats cost six denari, and straw cost eight. That left six denari from the horses.
The room cost one denari for the two of them. Two gallons of ale cost two denari. Two meals as well.
Even with the reduced lodging fee, if the inn as a whole kept moving, the money wouldn't be sucked into a single gap.
From next door came the sound of someone hammering up a sign.
The number seven denari was spreading along the highway.
I washed the water trough again.
I wrote the seven-denari and ten-denari horse fees on the same page.
Seven denari. Three for oats, four for straw. Nothing left.
Ten denari. Three for oats, four for straw. Three denari left.
With six horses, the seven-denari price left zero, while the ten-denari price left eighteen denari.
That eighteen denari would go toward the maid's wages, the cost of firewood, and repairs to the door.
"Ten denari looks expensive," Maren said.
"Inside that number are a place where the horse will be standing in the morning and a door that protects the cargo."
"What isn't included in seven denari?"
"Two bundles of dry straw per horse. Cleaning the water trough. Managing the key to the storage room."
If you lowered the price, something had to be cut somewhere.
I wrote down each place where we could cut.
Use one bundle of straw instead. That would free up two denari per horse, or twelve denari for six horses.
Don't clean the water trough. It would cost nothing, but the horses would grow restless, and we'd lose the second night.
Leave the storage room unlocked. Then we'd get back twenty-two denari in repair costs and twenty-four denari in compensation for the stored cargo.
The seven-denari sign didn't say what inside the inn had been cut.
That was why I didn't imitate the number alone.
A sign could be read in one line. An inn's comings and goings took many lines of numbers over one night.
If you looked only at the single line showing the price cut, you'd miss the forty-two denari we needed.
You had to look at the oats, straw, water, and place for the cargo all together, on the same night.
The guests' horses and cargo would tell us what the neighboring inn had cut.
In the evening, a driver came out of the neighboring inn and looked into our stable.
"At seven denari, I put four horses in there."
"Did you sleep well?"
"There wasn't enough straw. The horses stood all night."
The driver didn't blame the neighboring inn. A cheap price had a cheap reason.
"Ours is ten denari."
"That's expensive."
"It's still ten denari on the second night."
The driver stepped on the dry straw.
"If there's a second night, that's eighty denari for four horses. Twenty-four denari for oats, thirty-two for straw. Twenty-four denari left."
"For the first night alone, twelve denari remain."
"I'll stay at the place that charges for the second night."
An inn's price wasn't decided by the sign for a single night.
I recorded separately the number of guests who chose to stay a second night.
People who chose the half-denari room still paid ten denari for their horses. The human rooms and the horses' stable didn't belong in the same price-cut package.
When we separated the prices, we could see both how the guests chose and what the inn kept.
That night, three wagons arrived from the east end of the highway.
There were six horses. The driver in front compared the signs at the two inns.
The neighboring inn's sign said seven denari per horse.
Ours said ten denari per horse.
"That's a difference of three denari."
"For six horses, it's eighteen denari."
I stated the difference first.
"Here, you get two bundles of dry straw, a water trough, and a locked storage room."
The driver entered the stable. He inspected the horses' legs, squeezed the straw, and looked into the water trough.
The four horses that had come out of the neighboring inn were standing with their heads lowered at the side of the highway.
The driver looked at his own horses.
"We'll stay here."
Six horses, sixty denari.
Eighteen denari for oats. Twenty-four for straw. Eighteen denari left.
There were five people. Two rooms at half a denari each, for a total of one denari. Five gallons of ale, five denari. Five meals as well.
The numbers flowed from the stable to the kitchen.
The driver carried two boxes to the locked storage room.
Maren counted the damage on the boxes.
"One nick on the corner of each box when we received them. Two boxes."
"Lock the door."
The latch dropped, and the key turned.
The six horses stepped on the dry straw.
The stable was full.
The floor for all six horses was covered in dry straw.
The pile of straw didn't collapse, and neither did the horses' legs.
The neighboring inn's sign still said seven denari.
I didn't lower our price.
Instead, I showed what we protected for the same ten denari.
In the middle of the night, a horse stepped on the straw once. The water trough was empty.
In the morning, all six horses raised their heads.
There was still dry straw at the stable entrance. Even after six horses had used it, the morning floor hadn't turned back into dirt.
The driver checked the horses' legs and the cargo boxes one after another.
Even after using water for six horses, there was enough left to wash the trough. The things we hadn't cut for the sake of a cheap price showed their value in the morning.
The driver tightened the ropes around the wagons.
"I'll come here next time, too."
"It's ten denari."
"That's the price of straw, water, and horses that can stand in the morning."
After the six horses left the stable, the smell of dry straw remained.
Before that smell faded, another wagon stopped in front of the inn.
The stable filled up again.
We didn't take the price cut, and we filled the stable with six horses.
Six pairs of hooves stepped on the same floor. What filled the empty spaces wasn't a cheap sign, but the things that kept them safe until morning.
Maren wiped the ten-denari number on the sign with a cloth.
"We filled the stable with this number."
"Because we showed them what was inside it."
The neighboring inn didn't take down its sign advertising seven denari per horse.
Ours was ten denari per horse. Sixty denari for six horses, eighteen denari for oats, and twenty-four denari for straw. Eighteen denari remained.
From that eighteen denari, we set aside the maid's wages and the cost of firewood first.
The stable would fill up even without imitating the cheap sign.
We didn't cut what was necessary. We showed what the price included.
The guests who chose the half-denari room still paid ten denari for their horses. By separating the prices, we could see what remained for the inn as a whole.
Not lowering the sign didn't mean refusing guests.
We could explain the reason for not lowering the price right in front of them.
If the price could be explained, we could offer it the same way to the next guest.
I consolidated the ledgers from Chapter One into a single ledger.
The difference between seven and ten denari was eighteen denari for six horses. To keep those eighteen denari, the inn provided dry straw and water.
The three denari each guest paid became a horse that could stand in the morning and a box of cargo kept safe.
Next, I would look at the page for the month when her husband died.
Since that month, the suppliers, the form of the wages, and the inn's prices had all changed.
I had sealed the gaps one by one. At the end, I would confirm the day the first gap had opened.
The smell of dry straw still lingered in the inn's stable.
The full stable had become the entrance to the next page.
I left the tracks the horses had made in the ledger, too.
Six horses, ten denari, a second night. The result of the night we didn't lower the price.
That result would be passed on to the next guests, too.
Not a cheap sign, but a full stable.
Six horses standing in the morning.
The next night, too.
They would come.