Excessive Taxes, Wheat Yield Manipulation, Tax Evasion (5)

The post station's manager had told me something useful.

Not long ago, Marquis Geneva had rented carriages in bulk to move wheat.

That alone would become our second piece of proof that he had engaged in corruption.

"Would it be possible to see the ledgers from that period?"

"It is possible, though it may take some time to locate them. There are a great many ledgers, and if a guest arrives in the meantime I will have no choice but to stop."

"Then I will search through them myself."

"That would be ideal. Allow me to show you the way."

The manager led me past the reception desk. When he opened the tightly shut wooden door, the room beyond held stacks of paper that looked like ledgers, along with every manner of other goods. It was less an archive than a storeroom that happened to keep the books as well.

"The ledgers are all collected on this side."

"Understood. I will look through them myself."

The manager bowed lightly and left. Alone, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠I began examining the piles of paper and ledgers one by one. There was no need to read every line. I only needed the numbers for carriages rented out.

I could not have said how much time had passed. My eyes were beginning to ache and blur when I found it.

Sixty-two carriages bound for Zendrover. Compared to the average of two or three I had seen in the other ledgers, the number was staggering. Zendrover, moreover, was the largest city in neighboring Lort County, and the date lined up almost exactly with the wheat harvest. That was enough to call it certain.

And it would not have been only here. He would have rented large numbers of carriages from other cities besides Ruintein as well. Considering the volume of wheat the marquisate produced, he would have had no choice.

I rolled up the July 13th ledger and tucked it into my coat. This would clearly become crucial evidence.

When I stepped outside, Caseus, the post station manager, asked me, "Did you find what you needed?"

"Yes. I will keep this for the time being."

"Understood."

That ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠finished our business at the post station. I bowed lightly in thanks and left the building.

Has it gotten this late already?

Dusk had settled over the world without my noticing. We had arrived at the cathedral at sunset, so in hindsight it was only natural. Anything more today would be pushing it. Better to sleep properly and wait for Lena, who was due to arrive tomorrow.

I returned to the inn. It was around midday the next day when Lena and I reunited.

"Have you eaten?"

"Not yet."

"Then let's start with a meal. We're doing all this to stay alive, after all."

She clapped me roughly on the shoulder and headed for a nearby eatery. It was the sort of line day laborers might use, living hand to mouth—but I decided to let it pass. Before she became an inspector, she had been a proper noble herself.

Later, seated across from each other and midway through the meal, I set down my utensils.

"It seems the marquis foisted the surplus wheat onto Count Lort."

"What makes you think that?"

"This is from yesterday's investigation…"

I held out the post station ledger I had secured the day before. Lena stuffed her mouth full of stew and bread, chewing steadily as she read it through. Then she swallowed with an audible gulp and said, "So you're saying the marquis rented all of these?"

"At least the sixty-two bound for Zendrover, yes."

"Definitely not ordinary. Compared to the number of carriages coming back in, it's drastically low."

"Exactly. So I thought we might meet with Count Lort next."

"Good. Let's talk with him."

The meal ended not long after. We rose at once and left the restaurant.

A long sigh echoed through Count Lort's study.

In the hands of the family head, Lort de Seleas, lay a tax ledger. One million eight hundred thousand sacks of wheat. An absurd quantity. No matter how ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠bountiful the harvest, his territory could never have produced that much.

As for where the rest had come from—

It had come from Marquis Geneva, the greatest power in the region. The marquis had handed over the wheat as if it were the most natural thing in the world and told him to pay the tax on it in his stead.

At first, Lort had refused. The demand was pure nonsense. Who in their right mind would agree to pay another man's taxes for him?

The problem came afterward. Marquis Geneva began levying enormous tolls on the road that ran from Lort County into the marquisate. That road happened to be the shortest route to the Imperial Capital, and before long the merchants started complaining one after another.

It was blatant crime—both the excessive tolls and the demand that Lort cover the wheat tax. So he filed a formal report with the Inspectorate.

What came back was Marquis Geneva's blackmail. The Inspectorate had not protected his identity; they had passed it straight to the marquis. The betrayal by the very body he had trusted struck like a bolt from a clear sky. If they would not seize the man, there was no way to escape him—and he could hardly abandon his territory and flee.

Knock, knock.

The sudden sound of a knock pulled the count back to himself.

"Enter."

"Forgive the intrusion."

It was the head butler who came into the study. He bowed deeply in greeting.

"A guest has arrived, my lord."

"A guest…?"

Count Lort ransacked his memory, but no mention of any expected visitor came to mind. Still, he could not simply turn a guest away. More than that, something in the butler's careful tone when he said "guest" raised a question.

"Who is it?"

"…They say they have come from the Inspectorate."

Count Lort's face twisted. The Inspectorate was the pack of refuse that had betrayed him. Even so, his earlier conclusion held: if he dismissed them high-handedly, there was no telling what repercussions might follow.

"Grant them entry."

"Yes, my lord. I shall convey it at once."

The head butler left the study.

Count Lort must have given his permission. The carriage, which had been waiting, began to roll forward again.

In truth, we could have forced a search under the authority of the Inspectorate. Doing so, however, risked creating problems we did not need, so I had chosen the smoother path wherever possible.

"Lena, this is only my thought, but…"

"Yes? Go on."

"There is a strong chance Count Lort will treat us as enemies."

"Why?"

"Because he cannot trust the Inspectorate."

Lena tilted her head, then slowly nodded up and down. She seemed to have grasped the meaning.

"I will take the lead. The weight the Lichtenhaus name can carry should help."

"As you wish. Honestly, nothing about this is ever easy."

"Well. We have no choice but to change things little by little."

I turned my gaze out the window. The scene inside the walls was thoroughly peaceful—unlike Count Lort's heart.

Some time later, we finally stood before him. He had come out in person to the front of the manor to receive us.

"Welcome, Inspectors."

"A pleasure to meet you as well. I am Lena, and this is Caenderic."

"I shall remember the names carefully. Please, allow me to show you inside."

Count Lort led the way; Lena and I followed. We were shown into a drawing room within the manor. It was neither lavish nor particularly plain. Soon steaming teacups were set upon the table, and the real conversation began.

"Count Lort, we are pursuing Marquis Geneva for corruption."

"I know nothing of any corruption the marquis may have committed…"

"Of course, the choice is yours. Cooperate with us and put Marquis Geneva in prison—or look the other way and keep suffering as you have."

The count's eyes wavered. He was wrestling with it, no doubt—whether he could truly trust us or not. I understood that feeling well enough.

"I give you my word on the name of Lichtenhaus. If you cooperate, we will deal with Marquis Geneva for you."

"L-Lichtenhaus…!"

The count looked thoroughly stunned. And little wonder—he would never have imagined that a member of the empire's most powerful house was working as a mere inspector. In truth, the Inspectorate was exactly where a Lichtenhaus belonged.

"I will ask you once more. We are hunting Marquis Geneva for corruption. Do you truly know nothing of what he has done?"

"…I know. I know."

A fierce hunger burned in his eyes—an intense hatred directed at Marquis Geneva. Yes. That was enough. I despised and hated the man as well. From here, all that remained was to investigate thoroughly and put him behind bars.