Fief Tax (3)
After a day packed with more trouble than anyone needed, the three of us—myself, the Saintess, and Phai-ton—gathered in one place to share what we had each uncovered.
“Where is Sister Rhea?”
When Rhea was nowhere to be seen, the Saintess glanced around, searching for her.
“Secretariat Rhea is occupied with work at the moment.”
“Ah. I see. Well… that might actually be for the best.”
Something about the Saintess’s downcast expression told me everything I needed to know.
She had finally grasped the truth as well.
“It seems Count Richmond has entered into a contract with a demon.”
Just as I expected, the Saintess delivered the line in a voice drained of all energy.
“At first I simply thought the people here were a bit cold by nature. But when I saw the condition of the Count’s daughter, I began to grow suspicious. And that suspicion…”
“Hardened into certainty at the Richmond temple.”
“Yes. As you know, the Goddess’s servants cannot tell a lie. So when a situation arises where a lie would be required, they either speak the truth in a roundabout way or simply keep silent.”
“I’m well aware.”
“To us, the Richmond fief is practically the heart of the North, so this branch was under the care of Bishop Delran. Yet for some reason, the man who should have been present to receive us was nowhere to be found.”
A bishop was responsible for an entire diocese and oversaw multiple temples. Across the vast Empire there were barely fifty of them.
And a man of that rank had vacated his post when the Saintess herself was coming?
It defied all common sense.
There could only be one answer.
“Not only that—the priests who remained were exactly like the townsfolk. Completely devoid of emotion, as if they were dolls. So I took hold of them and demanded an explanation, and…”
The Saintess pressed on, fighting back tears.
“They said the Bishop made a bargain with a demon in order to save the Count’s daughter…”
“Then the contract was made by Count Richmond alone, I take it.”
“Wait—how could you possibly—!”
For a moment both the Saintess and Phai-ton froze, eyes wide and mouths hanging open at the offhand remark I had tossed out.
“Don’t tell me… Brother, have you also contracted with a demon?!”
“Who knows. Why would you jump to that conclusion? Does knowing about demons automatically make someone a contractor?”
“Th-that’s not what I meant.”
“Contracts with demons aren’t even forbidden to begin with. So what does it matter?”
The sharp glint that flashed through the Saintess’s and Phai-ton’s eyes made me instantly regret the combative tone.
Tch. This is exactly why I can’t stand sharp-eyed types.
Damn fanatics. For people who claim to serve a goddess, they sure are full of pointless suspicion.
And even if they found out—then what?
Whether they suspected me or not made little difference. In this land, a contract with a demon was treated much the same as a contract with a spirit.
Even the temples held the belief that demons, too, were creations of the Goddess, so they did not go out of their way to hunt down contractors.
Only if someone began worshipping a demon or committed crimes through one would they flip their eyes white and charge in.
Honestly, I still couldn’t understand how they could call undead “cursed creations” and purify them on sight, yet remain comparatively lenient toward demons.
In the end, though, they loathed both the same.
“Ahem. You’re right, of course. Demons are also the Goddess’s creations. But no one who has ever contracted or bargained with a demon has met a happy ending. Just look at the situation before us.”
“Is the present situation even a problem? I’ve heard that demons may tempt, but they never force.”
“According to what we learned…”
Just as the Saintess was about to recount in detail what had happened at the temple branch, Phai-ton—who had remained silent until now—stepped forward at the most exquisitely inconvenient moment and cut her off.
“Saintess, it would be unwise to say any more.”
“Pardon? But didn’t we agree to cooperate?”
“What has already been shared is sufficient. This is an internal matter involving the Bishop, so caution is required.”
“Ah… you’re right, of course…”
Are these people toying with me right now?
Why start talking and then stop halfway?
Do I look like some easy mark?
“Ahem. I believe it’s our turn to hear your side of things.”
Oh? Phai-ton wasn’t even calling me “Brother” anymore. Straight to “your side,” was it?
Somehow that face of his had always reeked of self-righteous old man from the very first glance. Physiognomy really is a science.
So that’s how you want to play it?
My mood thoroughly soured, I crossed my arms, crossed my legs, and answered in a deliberately curt tone.
“Count Richmond shows no intention of paying the fief tax.”
“Is that all?”
“Ah, and he appeared to be short of funds.”
“Are you joking with me right now? You were the one who first proposed cooperation.”
“Yes. I’m simply reporting everything I discovered, exactly as it is. Is there a problem?”
“Ahem. Then what do you intend to do going forward?”
“Nothing particular. I’ve already granted the Count a few more days’ grace. I also informed him that if the fief tax remains unpaid by then, we will proceed with enforcement.”
Faced with a prediction so obvious even a dog or a cow could have made it, Phai-ton bit down hard on his lip and glared at me.
I merely snorted and threw his own words right back at him.
“I, too, can say no more. This is an internal matter involving the Ministry of Finance—and, by extension, the Imperial Household.”
Yeah. I’m not telling you either!
“Secretariat Rhea. We will conduct a tax audit of the Richmond fief in conjunction with the enforcement. Begin preparations.”
The moment my conversation with the Saintess ended, I sought out Rhea and issued the new order.
She sucked in a sharp breath and recoiled.
“A t-tax audit…?”
“That’s right. Separate from the fief tax, I want to see with my own two eyes whether Count Richmond has been unjustly exploiting or oppressing his people.”
“But a fief tax audit carries a high risk of being seen as overreach and sparking a dispute. Without proper justification and grounds, you could find yourself in serious difficulty, sir…”
“If any problems arise, I will take full responsibility.”
“I’m sorry, but may I at least know the reason? I—I’m only worried about you, Tax Collector…”
Rhea trailed off, clearly flustered and hesitant.
In answer, I pointed out the window at the empty street below—a road so deserted not even an ant was in sight.
“Does this look like a normal fief to you?”
“Ah…”
“The economy, everything—the entire fief looks completely shattered. Of course we have to check whether there’s a problem with the taxes.”
“You’re not wrong, but as you know, procedure requires permission from a minister-level official or higher before a fief tax audit can proceed.”
“Then we’ll simply obtain it.”
There was a solid reason Rhea was this anxious.
Ordinarily, a fief’s taxes were set at the lord’s discretion. A lord could invent new tax systems as needed or adjust rates at will.
As a result, all sorts of bizarre levies had appeared over the years, bleeding the common folk dry.
The founding Emperor, seeking to curb such abuses, had granted the Ministry of Finance the authority to investigate them.
That authority was the tax audit.
But as Rhea had pointed out, it was also an act that infringed upon a lord’s prerogatives.
One misstep and the Ministry itself could end up under audit.
Which is perfect for me.
I intended to use that very fact.
From what I could see, Count Richmond simply did not have the money to pay the fief tax.
If he had possessed sufficient funds, he would have paid it with the attitude of “Take this money and get lost.”
Even if relations with the Imperial Household had soured, paying the fief tax would have removed any legal pretext for the throne to move against him.
Dirty and underhanded as it might be, paying the tax was still the wise choice.
Yet the Count had essentially dared us to try something.
In all likelihood he had scraped every last coin together to treat his daughter and spent it all.
The Saintess was never someone who would move for a handful of gold in the first place.
Enforcement and a tax audit at the same time? Anyone looking at it would call it political oppression. Or is it a purge? Either way, the moral high ground will shift to Count Richmond. Which means I win.
Exactly. Through this I planned to lose the Imperial Household’s trust and resign.
And why a tax audit specifically?
There was a reason for that as well.
Demons cannot lie or coerce.
I had not heard the full story, but it seemed the Bishop had bargained with a demon using his own life as the price to save the young lady.
A cleric making a deal with a demon?
Within the temples that was a grave sin nearly on the level of murder—perfect fuel for scandal no matter the justification.
Which was precisely why Phai-ton had cut the Saintess off at that exact moment.
Moreover, everyone except the Count had clearly made the same bargain with a demon for the young lady’s sake, just as the Bishop had.
The difference was that the Bishop had offered his life, while the rest had offered their emotions.
The Count must have summoned the Saintess to verify the effect.
Demons, like the temple folk, could not lie.
So they, too, either spoke in circles or fell silent—though, being demons, they preferred the roundabout phrasing.
Wordplay, one might call it.
The Richmond family had long been renowned as a house of mages.
Thus the Count almost certainly understood this demonic trait thoroughly when he made the contract.
And so, out of lingering doubt, he would have wanted the Saintess to confirm his daughter’s condition.
With that, every piece of the puzzle locked into place.
How good a lord must Count Richmond have been in ordinary times, for not only the townsfolk but even the priests to step forward and try to save his daughter?
It was a scenario that could bring tears to the eyes.
Would a lord who commanded such loyalty from his people really have played games with their taxes?
Commoners were extraordinarily sensitive about taxes.
In other words, I would be seen as an incompetent tax collector who, obsessed with results, had forced through an unreasonable audit just to pick a fight.
On top of that, the Imperial Household would wear the stigma of having appointed the wrong man and violated a lord’s rights.
Merit or demerit, fair or foul—I would walk the resignation route without fail.
If that still wasn’t enough, I could always toss Vice Minister Bern a bone like last time and ask him to take a bite out of me.
Perfect! Let’s do this right now!
“4th Grade Senior Secretariat Rhea. As of this moment I will accept no questions or objections. This is my final order. Prepare the tax audit immediately.”
“Yes, sir! 4th Grade Senior Secretariat Rhea! Orders received!”
The instant my stern, solemn, and utterly serious command finished, Rhea sprang to her feet and snapped into a perfectly angled salute.
But was that salute angle even real?