The soft glow of candlelight bathed Michael's private chamber, casting long shadows across the scattered parchments and sketches that covered his wooden table. Night had settled over the Morea, and the usual bustle of Clermont Castle had quieted to a hushed calm. Michael sat alone, quill in hand, as he meticulously revised his designs for the printing press. With George still away in Constantinople gathering artisans and supplies, Michael seized the solitude to advance his plans.

Earlier that week, he had met discreetly with Dimitrios the carpenter and Nikolaos the blacksmith. Their practical insights had been invaluable, helping him adjust his designs to align with the materials and techniques available. They discussed the feasibility of constructing the press's frame, selecting sturdy oak for its durability, and debated the crafting of the screw mechanism—an untested endeavor that Nikolaos was cautiously optimistic about.

As Michael reviewed his notes, a new thought struck him. Initially, he had planned to produce texts in Greek, catering to the local clergy and nobility. However, after conducting some inquiries, he realized that books were luxury items, often costing between 40 to 80 gold florins. The market within the Morea was rather limited, but the demand in Western Europe, where Latin was the lingua franca of the Church and academia, was vast.

If I produce texts in Latin, he mused, I could tap into a much larger market, generating substantial profits. These funds could support his other projects and strengthen the Morea's economy. Moreover, producing Latin texts might align with his brother's efforts to unite the Eastern Orthodox and Roman Catholic Churches—a strategic move that could attract Western support against the Ottomans.

Determined, Michael began reworking his movable type designs to accommodate the Latin alphabet. He carefully sketched each letter, ensuring uniformity and legibility. His knowledge of typography helped him optimize the size and spacing of the type, aiming to make the books more compact and cost-effective without sacrificing readability.

To produce a Latin Bible—the most logical and profitable starting point—he needed a reference copy. He decided to acquire one from the Catholic Bishop in Patras, a city under Venetian control not far from Clermont. The bishop was reputed to have an extensive library of Western texts. Michael drafted a letter requesting an audience, framing his interest as scholarly.

Turning his attention to the production of ink and paper, he set plans in motion to establish small workshops. He had spoken with local craftsmen about sourcing linseed oil and lampblack for ink, experimenting with mixtures to achieve the right consistency. For paper, he proposed using cotton and linen rags to produce high-quality sheets, collaborating with Elias, a miller intrigued by the venture.

A gentle knock at the door pulled him from his thoughts. Michael quickly organized his parchments, ensuring sensitive documents were tucked away. "Enter," he called out.

The door opened slowly, and Theodora stepped inside, her features softly illuminated by the candlelight. "Still awake at this hour?" she asked with a faint smile.

Michael looked up, masking his surprise. "Time seems to slip away when I'm engrossed in these matters."

She approached the table, her gaze drifting over the assortment of sketches and notes. "You've been quite occupied lately. The servants mention you've been meeting with various craftsmen."

"Just attending to some administrative tasks," he replied lightly. "There are always repairs and improvements needed around the estate."

She nodded, her expression thoughtful. "I suppose the duties of a despot are never-ending."

"Indeed," he agreed, hoping to steer the conversation away from specifics.

Theodora picked up a parchment displaying architectural drawings of a warehouse. "Is this a new building you're planning?"

"Yes, a storage facility," Michael said smoothly. "With the harvest season approaching, we'll need additional space."

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"That seems prudent," she remarked, placing the parchment back on the table. "You've always been forward-thinking."

He offered a modest smile. "I try to anticipate our needs."

A brief silence settled between them. Sensing her lingering curiosity, Michael decided to shift the focus. "And how have you been? I hope the preparations for the upcoming festival aren't too burdensome."

She seemed to accept the change in topic. "They keep me busy, but it's a welcome distraction. The people could use something to lift their spirits."

"Agreed," he said. "It's important to maintain our traditions, especially in challenging times."

Theodora glanced around the room once more. "Well, I didn't mean to interrupt your work. I just wanted to ensure you weren't overexerting yourself."

"I appreciate your concern," Michael replied sincerely. "I was just wrapping up for the night."

She gave a slight nod. "Very well. Don't forget to rest."

"I won't," he assured her.

As she turned to leave, Michael felt a pang of guilt for withholding information from her. Theodora had been a steadfast companion, but the nature of his projects required discretion. He watched as she quietly closed the door behind her, the soft echo of her footsteps fading down the corridor.

Once alone again, Michael exhaled slowly. He retrieved the hidden parchments from beneath the architectural plans. The musket designs remained concealed, a secret even more guarded than the printing press. The potential ramifications of introducing advanced weaponry were immense, and he couldn't risk the information falling into the wrong hands.

Refocusing on his work, he revisited the list of materials needed for the printing press and the workshops:

- *Printing Press Materials*:

- Sturdy oak for the frame

- Iron and steel for the screw mechanism

- Lead, tin, and antimony for casting movable type

- *Ink Production*:

- Linseed oil

- Lampblack (soot)

- *Paper Production*:

- Cotton and linen rags

- Equipment for pulping and pressing fibers

He made annotations next to each item, noting potential suppliers and any logistical challenges. The acquisition of antimony might prove difficult, but he hoped George would have success in sourcing it from Constantinople.

Michael then drafted the letter to the Bishop of Patras:

"Your Excellency,

I trust this letter finds you in good health and high spirits. I am eager to discuss matters of mutual interest that could enrich our region's cultural and spiritual life. At your convenience, I would appreciate the opportunity to meet with you.

Respectfully,

Constantine Palaiologos, Despot of the Morea"

Sealing the letter, he set it aside for dispatch in the morning. The thought of obtaining a Latin Bible filled him with a sense of urgency. The sooner he had a reference, the sooner he could proceed with producing a work that might open doors both economically and diplomatically.

As the candles burned low, Michael organized his parchments, ensuring that sensitive documents were securely stored. He placed the most critical designs into a leather satchel, which he locked inside a wooden chest concealed behind a tapestry—a necessary precaution.

Extinguishing the candles, he moved to the window. The night air was cool, and the stars shimmered like distant lanterns. He allowed himself a moment of quiet contemplation. The path he had chosen was fraught with challenges, but each step brought him closer to his goals.

"Knowledge is power," he whispered to himself. "And with it, i can forge a new destiny."

Turning away from the window, Michael prepared to rest. Tomorrow would bring new tasks and, hopefully, progress. As he lay down, his mind buzzed with plans and contingencies. Trust was a luxury he could scarcely afford, but discretion was essential. The weight of secrecy pressed upon him, but he bore it willingly.

Authors note: Chapters 9 to 13 are available in the Patreon page for subscribers.