"Well, milady, what d'ya think?"
The carding machine and the loom were practically carbon copies of museum pieces that I remember seeing, so I was certain that they'd work just fine. The Spinning Jenny, on the other hand, looked a fair bit different from what I'd expected.
"The spinning machine looks different than my sketch," I commented.
"Aye, it does," Garalt acknowledged with a slight bow of his head. "But, I couldn't make yer sketched design work."
"How did you come up with this design?" I asked.
"Me wife did some spinnin' on the side o'er the years, so I asked 'er abou' th' idea," he replied. "She's th' one who came up wi' this'un."
"I suppose as long as it works, it'll be fine. Would you mind showing me?."
"Freshly carded wool is pressed together and fed between the locking bar at the top and the spindle at the bottom," he explained, his usually heavy accent less evident in his gruff voice. "Once it's secure, yeh just tug on this lever here. Then, when yeh turn the wheel, it spins the spindles."
I nodded, following along with the explanation.
"Once the thread is nice and tight, just move the wheel the other way to wind the thread around the spindle," he said. As he spoke, he demonstrated how the machine operated. "When the thread is ready, yeh can move the lever back down, and wind the thread from the spindle to a spool."
"I see," I murmured. "And once the current length of wool is properly spun, you just unlock the bar and wind it onto the spindle, correct?"
"That's right," Garalt nodded. "Once it's wound to the spindle, yeh can add more wool to the top and lock it in place."
"This is… honestly, Garalt, this is excellent work," I acknowledged with a thankful smile. I considered it for a moment before pulling a gold dragon, the largest denomination of currency Westeros had, and handed it to him. "Here; a bonus, for you and your wife's excellent work."
"Thank ye, milady," the man replied, a look of surprise and wonder on his face.
The bonus was a rather large sum, to be sure. To put it into perspective, a fresh-baked roll stuffed with berry preserves would sell for either two or three pennies in Winter Town. A similar item, back home, would sell for somewhere around two or three dollars. For most goods, this relationship -one copper penny to one US dollar- was roughly accurate. Of course, items that were more rare or in higher demand were much more expensive here than they would be back in my old life. Part of this was, of course, the relative scarcity of supply compared to the demand, but a large part of that relationship was the fact that mass production wasn't a thing yet.
For example, an average horse would sell for somewhere in the vicinity of one gold dragon, and a trained warhorse would sell for between two and four gold dragons, depending on its size and youth. A good set of half-plate armor would sell for between two and five gold dragons, while full plate would cost upwards of ten. While I couldn't say how much a horse cost back in my old life, I'm pretty sure they weren't more than ten thousand dollars. And while plate armor was relatively rare -due to it falling out of use and the scarcity of people who actually made replica pieces- and would cost a few thousand dollars, I doubted it was between twenty and a hundred thousand dollars. So, while common items and food items were roughly equivalent to prices I was used to, anything that required significant labor or was in high enough demand was far more expensive than comparable items in my old life.
As for the currency, I was halfway convinced it was made by a drunkard. Or, maybe just someone who was particularly devoted to the Seven, considering how much that number came up when converting one coin to another. For example, eight pennies went into a copper star, seven stars made a silver stag, and seven stags made a silver moon. One gold dragon was worth 30 silver moons. Now, my mental math wasn't up to the task of converting this, but one gold dragon was worth more than ten thousand pennies. So, my musings aside, this little 'bonus' I'd given to the carpenter was a large sum. Perhaps not quite enough to live off of for a full year, unless one was extremely frugal, but most smallfolk (the local term for non-nobility) rarely got to handle, let alone own a gold dragon in their lifetimes.
Considering that I would, more or less, 'own' the rights to this design, since I'd commissioned its invention, I felt that the bonus was too low. Alas, House Stark was not the most wealthy house, so I couldn't afford to hand out gold coins willy nilly. Yet.
"You've earned it, Garalt," I informed him with a pleasant smile. "I intend to commission several more of each machine in the near future. I trust that I can count on you to make them?"
"I'd be honored, milady," the man replied. If he had unshed tears in the corners of his eyes, I was polite enough not to mention it. That bonus, plus the prospect of future work, would keep this man and his family in coin for a long time to come.
"Excellent. I'll send someone over within a sennight to move the machines," I informed him. I paused and considered him for a moment. "I don't suppose you or your wife happen to know of an experienced spinner who may be looking for work, would you?"
Garalt stroked his beard for a moment as he considered my question. "I'm not sure," he answered after a moment. "Me wife may know o' someone, but I'll 'ave to ask."
"Once I have the machines moved to a new location, send whomever you or your wife have in mind up to the castle," I requested. "I'll need several people to work these machines."
"Of course, milady," he replied with a dip of his head.
"Come, Maester Luwin," I said, turning and addressing the scholar who had accompanied me. "We have much to do."