The price of a Grant

“Leo? What are you doing here?”

Leo raised an eyebrow.

“Did you really think your father would leave you without protection now that Harold’s men may still be after you?”

Rowland lowered his head.

“I was nearby to keep an eye on all of you.”

Leo straightened.

“Permission to enter, Prince Edward Simon Savant?”

Sammy went completely still. Hearing his name and title after what felt like an eternity struck him strangely.

Prince Edward Simon Savant.

It was almost as though he had left that person behind ages ago.

Before Sammy could answer, Elena spoke.

“You may enter.”

Leo stepped into the room.

“You may have accomplished your mission by destroying the factory and helping the villagers, but you still don’t know who was behind it.”

His expression became solemn.

“People with enough money can erect another factory. And given enough influence, another belief system can be created—or the old one reinforced.”

Elena frowned.

“But the villagers saw Sybill destroy the factory. They already believe it was the source of everything that happened to them.”

“I know,” Leo replied. “But what I am trying to say is that you still need to find the person responsible.”

Rowland folded his arms.

“We also never figured out who Father Lionel is. He hasn’t shown his face once. The villagers described Father Lionel as a short, stout man.”

“Indeed. He is the man who rallied the villagers around the idea that the Goddess was punishing them, after all.”

Leo paused.

“I do have some new information.”

Everyone looked towards him.

“Our spies in Wostshire were able to recover the complete records concerning the factory. Apparently, it falls under the jurisdiction of Duke David and Dame Darlene.”

Leo’s expression hardened.

“The trail was actually far easier to follow than expected. Every month, sizeable ‘grants’ appeared out of nowhere, travelling from this very inn straight to the duke’s mansion.”

He paused.

“And the owner of the factory is none other than Randall Escrow.”

Sammy’s expression changed.

“The innkeeper?” Elena asked.

“The very same.”

Rowland frowned.

“But that makes even less sense. Why destroy this place? His own inn suffered along with everything else.”

“Yes,” Leo replied. “But to Randall, it was apparently a fair trade.”

His eyes moved towards Sammy.

“He made considerably more money from the factory than he ever lost from the inn.”

“And once the village became poor,” Elena said slowly, “people became desperate for work.”

Leo nodded.

“Cheap, loyal labour.”

Sybill raised one finger thoughtfully.

“The profit was the more. The spending was the less.”

“Precisely.”

Leo folded his hands behind his back.

“There is one more interesting detail. Randall is indeed descended from the little boy associated with the first miracle. That boy was his great-great-grandfather.”

Sybill went still.

Leo reached inside his cloak.

“I searched the factory myself.”

He produced a heavy cloth bag.

“And naturally, I searched Randall’s private room.”

Leo held the bag over the table and turned it upside down. Its contents spilled across the wooden surface.

And with them came the rest of the mystery.

***************

Andrew returned with Randall on horseback, beaming like a child who had been handed all the sweets in the world. He was several lengths ahead while Randall struggled to keep pace behind him.

Andrew reached the inn first and pulled sharply on the reins, bringing the horse to a perfect halt. In one smooth movement, he swung himself down from the saddle.

Randall arrived moments later, laughing breathlessly.

“Leo, you show-off!”

He rubbed his back.

“Slow down, will you? My bones are cracking!”

Andrew laughed. For someone who had spent years struggling to see clearly, he looked almost impossibly happy.

Randall finally dismounted and stretched with a groan. Neither man had yet noticed who was waiting for them.

Sammy, Leo, and Rowland watched as they returned and quietly nodded at one another.

Tea and a few sandwiches were served while the maids neatly packed away Andrew and Randall’s camping supplies. Leo remained standing nearby, his black eyes fixed on Randall with a cold, calculating stare. One hand rested on his wand, ready.

Randall glanced towards him uneasily.

Why was the king looking at him like that?

Sammy approached his father.

“Can you join me for a moment?”

Andrew looked at him curiously but followed.

The moment they disappeared, a heavy silence settled over the room.

Leo did not move. He simply watched Randall.

Randall shifted in his seat.

When Andrew returned, the joy from his ride was gone.

His face had hardened, his eyes completely devoid of warmth. His shoulders were squared and his posture so rigidly straight that he seemed to have gained several inches in the few minutes he had been away.

“Leo.”

Leo looked towards him.

“Take this man away as a criminal of the Crown.”

Randall’s smile vanished.

Leo moved without hesitation and fastened a pair of cuffs around Randall’s wrists.

Randall stared at him.

“Leo? What do you mean? What is this?”

Andrew stepped forward.

“I, Andrew Savant, King of Etheria, hereby declare Randall Escrow a criminal of the Crown.”

Randall went still.

“What?”

His expression twisted in disbelief.

“What is my crime?”

Rowland stepped forward carrying the bag.

“We spoke with the villagers concerning Father Lionel."

Then continue exactly as before:

Randall’s expression tightened.

“The face they described was different,” Rowland continued. “But his height, weight, and build correspond with yours.”

Sammy folded his arms.

“A mage can alter his features. His stature is rather more difficult to conceal.”

Rowland overturned the bag. Ceremonial robes spilled across the table, followed by badges and ornaments belonging to priests of the Goddess.

Leo regarded Randall without expression.

“These were recovered from your private quarters.”

Randall’s face drained of colour.

“You assumed the identity of Father Lionel,” Leo continued, “and used that false office to convince an entire village that its suffering was divine punishment.”

Andrew’s voice came next, colder than before.

“While in truth, you were profiting from the very ruin you taught them to accept.”

Randall shook his head.

“No. You don’t understand—”

“We understand perfectly,” Andrew said.

“The factory. The poisoned river. The destruction of Crown land. The exploitation of its people. And the monthly ‘grants’ sent to Wostshire in exchange for protection.”

Randall’s breathing faltered.

Then his gaze snapped towards Leo.

“But he is the king!”

Leo did not so much as blink.

“You are mistaken.”

He gestured towards Andrew.

“His Majesty stands before you.”

Randall slowly turned.

Andrew stood before him—the old friend with whom he had played cards, the man he had raced beside, the man he had called Leo.

Randall’s mouth fell open.

Andrew’s expression did not soften.

“You were given fertile land, prosperous people, and the friendship of your king.”

He held Randall’s gaze.

“You abused all three.”

Randall said nothing.

“From this moment, every asset obtained through these crimes is seized by the Crown.”

Andrew’s voice remained level.

“You have lost your factory, your wealth, your freedom—”

He paused.

“And the friendship of the real king.”