Even taxmen have feelings

I was sitting, waiting, the proud fool lying down, her eyes open.

Waiting as well.

Nut didn’t say how far they were, but if he came here it would mean…

I heard first the heavy steps and the huffs of the horses, which were all, in some way or another, whinging about needing to walk in this forest.

The men were doing the same, even with a louder voice somehow.

Then the steps of men on leaves, which ruffled and cracked with each of those very steps, like small drums.

Three knocks on the door and, with a tired tone, came the voice of the poor, richer, man outside: “Come on, Victor the forester, the evil taxman is here to suck out every silver you have got.”

Interesting entrance, but I had met this one long before at the village of his Baron, so, getting up, I opened the door to the poor overworked minor knight.

Naturally, when one hears about “minor knight” they think about people in shining armour, tall, and ready to fight.

Not a miserable man, smaller than me or the elf, his half armour dirtied by mud and weed, and his brown eyes’ bags having bags themselves, visible under the shaggy brown hair.

“Long work, Ivanus?” I asked, while outside the fellow knights took this known spot to go down their horses, stretch and rub their backsides.

It had been a long trek, I knew that, even on a horse, from the sounds of pain and suffering I could hear.

“You have no idea, Victor.” He muttered, entering the room without looking inside, dragging his steel clad feet on the floor: “These mountains aren’t for moving, above all this late, but Lord Marius has been remiss in his duties. Again.”

I patted the shoulder of the one who would be bleeding me and take my money, pitying him slightly.

Slightly, he was someone who I called friend when not on duty and not taking my money, but…

“So, moving from your suffering to my own suffering, how much silver do I need to pay? How much has his highness tasked you to take from my poor, poor pockets?” I asked, taking out a bag from the desk, while the man rubbed his tired eyes, not turning towards the elf who was watching the spectacle.

“It’s “his lordship” at most, or “lord”, not “highness”, Victor. Being around the small ones has-” Then he stopped, his voice coming from behind me snuffed out like the air from his lungs had disappeared, a chocked sound coming from his mouth instead.

I turned towards him, slightly concerned by the sudden sound, and saw him staring at the elf, who was watching this whole exchange with boredom clear in her eyes.

Maybe it was also the slightly downturned ears that gave me a clue about her emotional state, which, I would state again, was scientifically interesting.

“Victor. Why is there one of the holy ones of the Order here in your shack?” Ivanus asked, slowly and mechanically turning towards me, his eyes now wide open while his skin had become as pale as the snow.

Also, holy ones? That was a new tidbit that I would need to ask in another moment but, for now, there were more important things.

Like my impending emotional pain at paying taxes.

Where were Parisians when you needed them? They would have made enough of a mess that I could just have slipped by, but the only thing I would get at home would be strange protests for trains.

“Victor? An answer would be good now, please.” He begged, and I do mean begged, me to answer, while the knights outside continued to lay on the grass.

“Magic mishap, got blasted here, don’t know how, she is still recovering.” I answered simply, passing him the bag of silver needed for the tax: “Also, it’s still thirty six ounces for this year, right? I am not counting wrong.”

“I think that having a holy Alfar here is more important, you crazy wood wizard! Why didn’t the old Hauldrs send for the Order?!” He shouted, and it was a shout, enough to make the table and the chair almost vibrate, and to make the proud elf turn towards him and, with a glare, growl out: “I would advise, Peregrino, to calm yourself. I am here of my own volition, and I do not know what your “Order” is. But, if they are of use, I will find them after the winter has passed.”

There were three beats of silence, during which Ivanus was staring dumbfounded at the proud elf.

That silence was broken by him saying, his voice as tired as he was Atlas keeping up the world: “Look…just…it’s forty ounces. The Lord has been…preparing, trouble with some pirates to the south for which he will need give tithe to his highness, so he needs more silver than usual.”

“Hopefully nothing bad will happen.” I took out a small scale, the one I used for measuring medicine, and added some small silver nuggets.

I would be more annoyed, but it’s not like I didn’t have good sources for silver, or there was anything I would want to buy for the next months.

Or could buy.

Ivanus took the silver and spoke up, with a sigh, putting it away, his eyes darting to the proud elf every once in a while: “Thank you for the understanding, hopefully it will just be something that’s only for this year. The two Hauldrs have been somewhat…ruder about this.”

Then he bowed towards the elf: “Thank you for your presence, your holiness, and I hope you find your memory again. Victor, have a good year and I hope to see you in the village.” and then he powerwalked out, and I closed the door, leaving us alone.

If we heard a stressed shout from outside, I would chalk it up to simple auditory illusions caused by emotional pain.

I may not need much silver, but I didn’t like paying taxes, damn it!