Upon the office of the Komēs, he held his pen. He made a strikethrough to a sentence on a bullet point as he felt that it was outdated. “What’s the word for the fisheries and ports again? The combination of them, I mean,” Nikeophoros said.

“To be frank with you, I don’t remember it as well,” Cyril laughed.

“Ah, you’re useless! You went to my house for nothing!” he whined out, just writing "fishery " before making another strikethrough to simply write “maritime activities”.

“I told you many times that you may do that for another day. You volunteered for something that was supposed to be within my prowess. You’re in Patara, of all places.” Cyril tapped on his chair as he said “Finally, you’re the only one we’re waiting for, and I don’t want my wife to wait any longer.”

“Isn’t it that you’re quite famous for leaving your wife at home?” Nikephoros said, which gained a wince from his superior.

“That’s none of your business. Never remind me of those baseless rumours.”

Nikephoros brushed away the whole topic. He said “Do you wish to be rich or not?” There was a pregnant pause that came after Nikephoros said that. 

Cyril’s posture became lax, a smug face plastered on. “Why yes, I do, but that doesn’t mean that you should prioritise it.” 

Tapping the pen on the ink bottle, he said “One of your priorities is money.” Feeling as if the conversation was going nowhere, accompanying his mental tiredness, Tornikes put the pen down on a piece of parchment and wiped it off with that.

“I’m done for now. Your constant prattling made my head hurt.” Groaning, he laid down on his chair. “And my fingers hurt from holding that quill for so long.”

“Let’s go then, why don’t we? So that your frail hands aren't in your attention,” said the doux.

Huffing in amusement, the Komēs said “You say that to me when your wrist breaks the moment it twists even a smidge.”

“I only needed a little press or more on mine to be fine,” Cyril said, twisting both of his wrists. “Yours, however, couldn't even handle staying in the same place.”

“Shut up, you arsewipe.” Nikephoros scoffed. He heard Cocytus cackle like a maniac. The Komēs went back to his paper, glimpsed at the ink and the pen, then he scratched his beard before he said “You know, I think we should make something new. Something that even scholars would use.”

Cyril’s brow was raised. He smiled as he said ”Pray tell what this is.”

“Scholars take time copying books, classical or modern, am I right?” Nikephoros starts. Cyril hummed and nodded, leaned over, fully entranced in this discussion. 

“What if we revolutionise the world?” And so, Nikephoros proposed “What if, rather than writing the same book, we can make them with a machine or something. That way, our literature would be spread quicker! It would be faster and easier to publish and make than writing the scriptures.”

“Wouldn’t that be expensive? And what do you suggest then?”

The Komēs thought about it. “We use a wooden board with the letters of the lexicon? And the holes there would be put with ink and— no, it’s still going to be slow. Similar to a seal, but there surely must be a chance to make it fast.” 

Nikephoros’ feet tapped the floor. He gave up afterwards, saying “I’ll stop there, let’s do this in about another day. We have something else to do.”

“You’re the one that brought it up,” Cyril snickered.

Sighing, he pushed himself up. “Yeah, I know.” He went to open the door, saying “Now, we go back to your court.”

“Don’t say it as if I’m in the wrong,” Cyril said. “If it wasn’t in my place, then it would be as if I’m intruding someone else’s home. My wife has been informed anyhow, and it is upon my responsibility to welcome you all, for I was the one who had made that league.”

“I must ask, since you have such a wide array of support from families within Anatolia, why haven’t you gotten support from the other Manuel Komnenos, nephew of our grand Basileus and son to Andronikos?” asked Nikephoros. He watched the general stand, a bit of disdain..

“My disdain may be on Basileus Manuel Komnenos, primarily his… second wife, but I would be killed if ever his family knew of why I made such plans.” Cyril went out first, Tornikes taking pieces of documents away before following behind.

“Not even Andronikos then?” Nikephoros asked, in which Cyril sneered.

“That man is as wild as a beast, why let him join? He has been casted out so much by the Basileus that it’s laughable.” Cyril left it at that, fixing his chlamys.

They went down, seeing people of nobility, either of the same rank or lower than the Komēs himself. “Theophylaktos!” A pair of eyes went to Nikephoros. He waited for the man to come down. “Is it going to be the same as yesterday, sir?”

Nikephoros held his chin up high as he said “You will be their host up until two nights, or in the worst case, a week once again, yes. I’ve matters to attend to, alongside our dear Doux here.” 

Since many have seen the man before he was welcomed upon his manor, none batted an eye anymore. Murmuring, his servant said “I better have a raise.”

“I will give you it in kind,” Nikephoros told him, walking down the stairs. “Remind me to do so, the important matters to the capital of our Doux’ lands are of a higher priority.” He turned to the door, seeing a piece of clothing. “There it is,” the Komēs said to himself.

Nikephoros took his paenula, a cloak similar to a poncho, and wore it. The look of it was deceptively poor, with the colour being darkish and having the feeling that it is cheap. Compared to his lavish doux with his embroidered chlamys, Nikephoros acted as if he were amongst peasantry.

“Shall we depart, dear friend?” Cyril asked. He saw the other nod, Nikephoros pulling on the hem of his paenula. “How many steeds do we have?”

“Only one,” the Komēs replied. Stepping outside, they looked over the hills and plains of the city. He gazed at him as he said “It’s the only one I could afford that was from a nearby stable. If you complain about it, I will kick you out and leave you to walk to the shore.”

Rolling his eyes as he chuckles, the doux said “Ah, how you wound me.” 

The horse they rode was white and had long legs. It whinnies, shaking its hair and letting its mane flow. Nikephoros hushed the horse, calming them down. He rode, awaited for Cyril to do the same and kicked softly on their side, making them trot slowly. As they saw the road, with few people who worked on their fields on the plains, Nikephoros saw open space.

“Not many people, that’s good,” Nikephoros said, cracking his neck. With a jump and the whip of the rein, they moved onwards. Their journey was quick as the terrain of the place was a flat plain of land after the urban. As they went out of the town, they came down to the beaches, passing through the sailors there who were setting up nets.

They followed the coast, going near the sea once in a while. The warm breeze washed over them as they saw merchants taking out crates upon crates of their products. The horse went farther, quicker, as he kicked their side again.

Both of them went to the nearest port afterwards. Their plan was to take a boat than waste about a whole day riding to the capital of the Duchy. As they went out of Nikephoros’ steed, they saw empty, unmanned boats that could hold about two to four people. Fishermen dragged their catch of prawns and clams from their nets.

“Both of us row or do we pay someone?” Cyril queried, holding his bent knees, examining the vehicle.

“I already asked for someone. We needn’t waste our energy since it’s going to plummet later anyways.” The Tornikes called over a local fisherman, guiding his horse to follow him. He asked them if they knew a boat, perhaps even one that would not sink if his mount was there.

“A large boat that can carry a horse? Komēs Nikephoros, we don’t have those kinds of ships here. The military and merchants do.” Throwing his hands in the air, he went back to Cyril. “There’s no chance our steed’s going with us.”

“Do you know anyone else that could take care of it then?”

“No.” Nikephoros paused. “Well, I have rented it from the stables. I could give it back."

“Then go and do so. I'll wait for you,” Cyril told him.

When Cyril stepped out of the horse, Nikephoros said "Wait for me at the docks. There's a man carrying a large sack, a boat no nets at all."

The doux tried to scout out who he was mentioning. "Is it the man with the long, wheat-colored hair?"

"No, the other one with the shaggy beard with a hunched back. He's the grandfather of one of my farmers." Turning the direction of the horse, he tossed a hyperpyron at him. A gold coin. "Tell him to give me back a fourth of that coin. I'll be quick."

And so he left Cyril wandering at the beach, him trotting to the boat while the Komēs rode to the stables, in which he was then carried back with another rider who Nikephoros asked a favour for to do so. It only took him a few minutes and a bit of his dignity until he came back to Cyril's side.

The doux gave him 46 billon aspra trachea, or silver coins. The Komēs sighed, murmuring about inflation. “To Andriake,” Nikephoros said softly after getting in, stepping aside for Cyril and the bag filled with barley bread.

The rope that held the boat on land was released and so they rode the waves. The Mediterranean waves washed over them as they saw the fishes that swam near the surface of the water. 

The sun shone over the sea and the peaceful calm put them off the stress they had before. Well, mostly Nikephoros. He yawns as he stretches after.