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Lord Marius McGraffin, head treasurer of Camelot, was a diligent man. He had inherited his position from his father, who had inherited it from his grandfather, who had inherited it from his great-grandfather. He did so despite the fact that King Arthur had dismantled the practice of inheriting important positions in court and now preferred to appoint the positions himself - even to commoners, if they proved competent. But Sir McGraffin had been groomed for the position all his life and when the time came to appoint the position anew after his esteemed father had passed away in his sleep, he - Sir Marius McGraffin - had prevailed to continue the family tradition. He took great pride in that.
The head treasurer of Camelot was just finishing up his estimation of next month’s tax income, when a knock sounded from the door. He wrote down the last sum and returned his feather to its proper place to avoid sullying his final draft before he answered. “Enter.”
In came the king’s manservant. Now that was quite unusual. He had been treasurer for about a year now and he had never spoken a word with him. He had of course had business with all the other servants as he was the one handing out their wages but Merlin was a bit of a special case. McGraffin wondered what he needed.
“Excuse me, Sir? Is this the office of the head treasurer?”
“It is.”
“So I assume you are Lord McGraffin?”
“Indeed. What do you need? Did the king send you?”
“Yeah… So…” The boy fidgeted. “He told me to collect my wages.”
…
He stared at the young man.
…
Merlin continued to fidget. He seemed extremely uncomfortable but did not retract his words. McGraffin answered slowly. “I was under the impression that you were given a different compensation due to the… unusual way you got the position. I thought, to prevent dissonance among the staff, the king handled your wages personally.”
“Well, he was under the impression that they were handled by you.”
“Where did you get your pay then?”
The boy bit his lip. “I was under the impression that my pay was lodging inside the castle and the ‘honor of serving a royal’ or whatever they called it.”
…
Oh boy.
“In that case you have accumulated quite the amount of back wages.” He pulled out a fresh piece of parchment and dipped his quill. “If my memory serves me, you were hired almost ten years ago, correct?”
“Actually closer to eleven now, it was somewhere in spring ten years ago.”
“Then let me congratulate you for ten full years of service. I certainly haven’t ever started a register with the anniversary bonus but here we are.” He wrote down the loyalty bonus lest he forget it and started his calculation.
“So… Let’s see. That’s ten years of service with 52 weeks each, six days a week, not counting the fourteen days of-”
“Err.. excuse me, Sir?” The servant piqued up meekly.
He looked up from his calculations. “Yes?”
“You said six days a week. But a week has seven days.”
That did not impress the treasurer at all. “I’m aware.”
The servant blushed slightly. “Yeah, of course you are. I was just wondering why you’re calculating with a shorter week.”
He rolled his eyes at the ignorance. “I’m only counting the work days of course.” This did not seem to help the confused young man. But he decided to humor him. “You do not get paid for your days off. That’s why I’m only calculating six days per week.”
Merlin’s mouth fell open in disbelief. “Are you saying I was supposed to get one day off every week?!”
Oh. So that had been the problem. “That has been the standard for Camelot’s servants for many years. But it is not unheard of for private servants to adhere to other schedules. Did the king organize two days every other week then?”
There was an awkward pause. “...No.”
His brow furrowed. “Then how did he do it?”
The boy bit his lip. “He kept saying I had to earn my days off.”
That was… unusual. “How often did you earn them then?”
Merlin was silent for a long moment.
“Once.”
“Once a month?” McGraffin was already adding the new variables, but halted when the young man continued.
“He gave me leave to visit my mother… Once.”
The treasurer looked up from his numbers and couldn’t help but grimace in sympathy. That was the face of a man severely wronged. McGraffin cleared his throat carefully. “What about the holidays? Did he-”
“No.”
He took a deep breath. “Well, at least you’ll get bonus compensation for those. Working on holidays pays significantly better.”
“Hooray”, the servant commented dryly.
The treasurer gulped. “Well anyway, I don’t suppose you have kept count of your sick days, have you?”
“No.”
“Ok, so on average the servants would be bedridden for about 3 days per year.”
The boy hummed at that. “I think I had a bit more. I’ve caught some nasty colds a few times after he dragged me through the woods.”
He blinked at the boy. “He did what?”
“Took me on his hunts for the most part. His armor may have some nice and cozy padding underneath but my old jacket certainly didn’t hold off the freezing winds in late autumn.”
“So you were also working outside the castle walls?”
“Yeah? Why does that matter?”
“Because we grant a slight bonus for servants that take a risk by leaving the city while working. Usually that would entail an entourage for a diplomatic event but I dare say this also applies.”
“Did you say you’re paying us for risk?”
"Yes, of course! Our servants get paid for cleaning, not for risking their lives. That’s what we have guards and knights for."
Seeing the blank look on the boy, he continued: “I don’t suppose you have a list with dates and duration of all the hunting trips you accompanied?”
He shook his head.
“That’s unfortunate. We’ll have to estimate then. What would you say is the average frequency with which the king goes hunting?”
The boy’s brow furrowed. “Well… It used to be about once a month apart from the winter season. But ever since he was crowned, he’s been too busy for that. So now it’s more like… Once every three months?”
“Alright. I can work with that. Are there any other excursions outside the castle that I should know of?”, he asked sarcastically - not expecting an answer.
“I mean, if we’re talking about risks outside the city: He took me on his patrols too.”
McGraffin raised his eyebrow skeptically. “Now you’re just pulling my leg, young man.”
“Nope. You can ask the king himself. It’s the truth.”
“And you’ve never gotten injured?” The servant’s scoff did nothing to bolster his failing faith in his sovereign. “Merlin, just how many times did you get injured?”
The boy wrapped his arms around his body protectively. “Why would that matter?”
“I need to know how many times you were injured in service of the crown. If it happened in line of your serving duty or generally in protection of the king, it comes with injury compensation. Even the knights have a claim to that.”
The servant grumbled something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like “The fuck?” before catching himself. “I don’t know. I lost count a long time ago. Can’t we just… skip that?”
Now that scratched at the treasurer’s honor. “No, we won't. This is important”, he intoned with gravitas, “The servants of Camelot are getting paid their due. That I stand for with my name. This whole affair already stains my family's reputation as is. I refuse to sully it further with a faulty calculation on top of that.”
“But I really don’t know! It’s not that important anyway. And since we can’t prove anything-”
“Well, did they scar?”, he interrupted. That made the boy choke, which once again did nothing to reassure the treasurer. “Alright, take off that shirt. We will count.”
“What? No!”
“That’s an order”, he insisted with a smile. He did outrank the boy after all.
“No, that’s harassment.”
Cheeky. But the boy’s reputation preceded him, so McGraffin wasn’t too bothered by it. “Do I need to call the king to enforce my order?”
The boy paled immediately. “No!”
“Then off with that shirt.”
The look in the servant’s eyes could kill but he finally complied. The breath was immediately knocked out of the treasurer. The young man’s skin was littered with scars. Cuts from blades, slashes from beasts, marks that could only come from being tied too tightly in chains… but they all paled in contrast to a massive burn right in the center of his chest.
He wanted to ask about it. He really did. But the look in the boy’s eyes stopped him. He had already invaded his privacy way too much as he now recognized. So he tried to be as professional as he could about it.
“Well then. Let’s count.”
Something in Merlin’s posture relaxed at that. And so they started counting. Only occasionally did the boy interrupt when a scar came up that he had apparently received in his youth. It was a concerningly small percentage.
The treasurer had to swallow a shout when the boy turned around and something that looked suspiciously like a serket sting came into view. But he held his tongue - out of respect if anything. He had served the king many years as a knight before he got this position. But his own scars came nowhere near this. Quite frankly, it was a damn miracle the boy was even alive. When they were finally done, Sir McGraffin had the feeling that he would need some strong cider, if he wanted any chance to sleep that night.
That’s when Merlin casually piqued up with: “What about the poisons?”
Now that all of that had been revealed without further fanfare and questioning, he was surprisingly forthcoming.
“Oh, right. There was that incident with King Bayard, I recall… Wait a moment. Did you say poisons? As in… plural?”
“Yeah. Some assassins still try that old poisoned breakfast stick every now and then, even though it never got through to him even once.”
“... And why did you end up poisoned instead of the king?”
“Because I’m testing it? Can’t have that prat dropping dead because of some tampered meat pie, can I? There’s plenty of time while I’m retrieving it and Gaius’ chambers are practically halfway between the kitchens and Arthur’s chambers.”
The man’s mouth fell open in a very undignified manner. “You are the king's food taster?”
“I guess. Why? Who did you think it was?”
“I thought he didn't have one since he believed us in a time of peace.”
Merlin snorted. “Well I certainly didn't trust that and was right to do so on six occasions - not counting Bayard.”
The treasurer’s face blanched but he dutifully noted the number. “You are aware that this is a completely separate job? One that pays very well considering the high risk?”
“... Huh.” Merlin shrugged. “Good to know.”
McGraffin stared at the nonchalance and decided to ignore it. “Are there any other services you provide for the king that are out of the ordinary for your position?”
It was mainly meant as a rhetorical question but the servant seemed to think it over carefully.
“Well, I’m pretty sure I’m not supposed to be writing his speeches for him.”
The treasurer blinked at him - confused. “He’s consulting you on his speeches?”
Merlin huffed in indignation. “If by consulting you mean telling me to pull one out of my arse the night before he’s supposed to hold it… Yeah.”
McGraffin dragged a hand down his face. “Are you telling me you also act as his personal scribe and advisor?”
This time it was the servant that blinked at him in confusion. “Err… Maybe? I don’t- I’m not sure if… Ok, what are my official duties exactly? Because to be honest no one ever told me and I get the feeling there has been some confusion about it.”
The man sighed. “The king’s manservant is supposed to attend to his majesty throughout his day and organize the chores corresponding to the royal’s wellbeing.”
Merlin looked suspicious. “Wait. Just attending and organizing? No mucking out the stables?”
“… That’s what stable hands are for. You are the king’s manservant. You are the highest ranking servant in this castle. You are supposed to delegate menial tasks like this. Your job is to be at the king’s back and call, anticipate his needs and organize the chores of the other servants under your care to provide ideal service for his majesty.”
The king’s manservant stared at him.
Then he turned around, crossed the room and dragged a chair over from one of the other tables.
“... I think we’re gonna be here for a while.”