Tax Audit (1)
I hadn't expected Daphne to come calling on me again. The truth was, I knew almost nothing about her. House Highcliff was a prestigious family rooted in the heart of the Empire, and I had no prior acquaintance with anyone in it.
Only two things, really: that she was a good person, and that she had nothing to do with Mabel's schemes.
A short while later, the attendant announced her visit, and I rose to greet her warmly.
"I'm sorry for calling on you without so much as a word of notice."
"Not at all. I should have been the one to invite you."
Daphne smiled with genuine warmth. Unlike Mabel, she had no gift for hiding what she felt.
Lily brought in two cups of tea, steam curling from their rims — her pride and joy, a special recipe brewed from alchemical byproducts. Daphne never so much as glanced at hers. A shadow of worry hung over her face.
"Lord Mabel is a wonderful man," she said. "He's kind to everyone, and tireless in his work. I often think he's more than I deserve."
I couldn't tell where this was headed. If she'd come seeking romantic counsel, I wanted to tell her flat out that I'd be of no help whatsoever — a Daoist studies the principles of heaven, not the affairs of the human heart, and on those I was a hopeless amateur.
"He is remarkable," I offered. "There's a great deal to learn from him."
"And yet... he's so perfect that at times I find him hard to approach. I want to know what he likes, what he thinks, but even sitting in the same room, our conversation never quite takes root."
Trust me — knowing what went on inside Mabel's head would do her no good at all.
My heart went out to her. She had left her home to marry into a family in a far-off land, and of all the men she could have been promised to, she'd been saddled with that one.
Frontier or not, high society in the Esterzy domain was no pushover. As the newcomer, she was surely being prodded and snubbed by every noble lady with an agenda. And the husband who ought to have been standing at her side, lending her strength, was off gallivanting around dabbling in one suspicious scheme after another.
"I'm sorry. This isn't the sort of thing I should be telling his brother..." She smiled awkwardly.
"Please, don't apologize. I'd like to help however I can."
That much was sincere. If it were within my power, I'd scuttle the marriage outright.
"And... my father has run into some difficulties lately. I wondered if you might be able to help him, young master? Lord Mabel is so busy that I can hardly get a word in with him."
"What sort of difficulties?"
"It concerns... certain embarrassments within the family. You'd do better to hear the details from my father himself."
She fidgeted with her teacup, uneasy.
"Please don't feel burdened — that's the last thing I want. My family home is in the capital, and Father has never once asked me to seek help on his behalf. If you should ever happen to travel there, simply considering a visit to House Highcliff would be more than enough."
I turned it over in my mind. What business could I possibly have in the capital? If I were some unremarkable son with no place in the succession, I might have walked a scholar's path at one of the capital's famed academies — but as it stood, I was a legitimate heir in the thick of an inheritance contest. Any trip to the capital would be for sightseeing and nothing else.
"I have no such plans at the moment, but if I ever do find myself in the capital, I'll be sure to call on your house."
"Thank you. Truly."
Daphne visibly relaxed, her shoulders easing at last.
"Oh — that reminds me. Lord Mabel was saying he means to conduct a tax audit of the Gray Trading Company. As I understand it, that's the company that backs the youngest young master of this family — am I right?"
I snapped wide awake.
"That's right. Did you happen to hear why?"
"Nothing sinister, I'm sure. Overseeing the merchants is simply part of an acting lord's official duties. But when he said it, Lord Mabel's expression seemed a little off. You know how he is — he so rarely shows anything on his face that when his mood isn't its usual self, it stands out all the more."
"Believe me, I know that all too well."
Daphne rose from her seat.
"I do hope the misunderstanding between you two clears up soon."
She smiled. She genuinely wished to see us brothers reconciled, and it seemed she had come to drop a hint, thinking even some small thing might help. It turned out to be an enormous help indeed.
Still — a tax audit, at this exact moment? How utterly petty. Unable to lay a finger on me, so now he'd go after everything around me.
Unfortunately for Mabel, his famous composure seemed to abandon him around Daphne. He could not have begun to imagine how thoroughly his fiancée's goodwill was about to bend his plans out of shape.
The moment Daphne left the castle, I made straight for the Gray Trading Company.
The sky had not yet fallen there, it seemed. Workers bustled about, but with so much cargo constantly flowing through the place, it was always this lively.
The director's office was as luxurious as any noble's parlor. Lucian, buried beneath a mountain of paperwork, was enjoying none of it.
"What brings you here all of a sudden?" he asked, lifting his head.
"Busy?"
Blinking eyes ringed with dark circles, he answered in a tone of perfect leisure. "You assured me the land would recover soon, so I was drafting a plan to resettle the refugees. One man's hardship is another merchant's opportunity, after all."
"A fine plan. Set it aside for now — there's a tax audit headed this way."
"A tax audit?" Lucian tilted his head. "You must be mistaken. The Finance Minister and I are close enough to share lunch, and I've heard nothing of any audit."
"Not from him. From above."
"Above the Finance Minister... then—" Lucian's brow furrowed. "You don't mean Acting Lord Mabel?"
"Exactly. It's his order, so the treasury can't block it on its own authority."
"Just as I expected."
Lucian expressed his displeasure with a cheerful smile. It made no sense, and yet he had a gift for it.
"He can't lay hands on you, so he's rattling his saber at everything around you instead. So long as the law is a weapon in his own hand, it's the one blade that can never cut him."
"His top priority is finding the Scarlet Blaze. I told him to his face that I'd burned it, but he's hardly naive enough to take my word for it."
"But the recovered Scarlet Blaze is in your possession, Lord Iden."
"Right — so that alone won't give him grounds to bind you. Instead he'll hunt for any flaw he can find and use it to throw you in a cell. If he can't have the Scarlet Blaze, then at the very least sweeping away everyone around me should soothe his temper."
"It seems the authorities have kindly decided to arrange a vacation for me."
...I had to admire the positive attitude.
"So — how does the Gray Trading Company stand? Anything that might give him a handhold?"
"Nothing."
Lucian spoke with total confidence. "Our contract with you covers that, so you may rest easy. There's nothing illegal, and every venture that could raise questions has already been wound up."
"They say there's no one in this world so clean that a good shake won't raise dust."
"You're looking at one right now..." Lucian's brow creased faintly. "...Although, now that I think of it, if someone combed through my records from five years ago, there might be trouble after all. I wasn't exactly above one or two shameful ventures in those days."
Unthinkable from the man he was now, but five years ago his reputation crawled along the bottom — the mere mention of the name 'Lucian' was enough to make people recoil.
When even Vitten, a man famed for his good nature, had once torn into Lucian, that said everything.
"You don't still have the records from five years back... do you?"
"Why wouldn't I? Thorough record-keeping is a merchant's first virtue. They're all tucked away safe in the headquarters archive."
I pressed a hand to my forehead.
"Those need to disappear. Now. All of them."
"I have a few warehouses leased at the harbor. We can move them there first—"
Just then, the floor below erupted into noise. Lucian and I rose from our seats in the same instant and looked out the window. Dozens of armored knights and officials in black-and-blue uniforms were filing into the company courtyard.
"So that's who they sent."
Lucian had spotted a face he knew, and he looked rattled.
"Who?"
"Birch — second squad leader of the Orchid Knights, Young Lord Mabel's personal order. She's said to be a Master-rank wielder of illusions."
"A Master of illusions, you say?"
"Allow me to correct myself. 'The Duchy's greatest illusionist.'"
An illusionist — that rang a bell. And honestly, sending knights at the head of a so-called tax audit? The man's intent couldn't have been more transparent.
"If you'll excuse me. I have an archive to clear out this instant."
Lucian strode from the window and bellowed for his staff.
The workers scattered as though their hair had caught fire. They tumbled into the archive room and emerged laden with file boxes, all hurrying toward the hidden passage Lucian had built behind his own desk.
But time was in desperately short supply. The records formed a mountain, and the knights were already stepping through the front doors.
"Where is the director of this company?"
"This premises is now under the jurisdiction of the Finance Bureau! Cease all activity and comply with our instructions!"
Haranguing the workers at the top of their lungs, they made for the central staircase.
"I suppose I'll have to stall them somehow."
Lucian said it while smoothing his clothes.
"No — leave this part to me."
I peered down at the lobby below. A woman with stiff, spiked red hair — presumably the Orchid's squad leader — was leading the inspection team up the stairs.
She looked up at me. In that fierce gaze I could read a hostility as clear as day. Unlike Mabel, she had no intention of hiding what she really thought.
When I flashed her a grin, she glared at me as if she'd devour me whole, then pushed through the second-floor door and went inside. I rested my chin on my hand and waited for them to climb.
A Master-rank illusionist, then.
No doubt she'd had a hand in laying the traps on my brother's farm. I'd called her work crude to his face, but it hadn't been quite that shabby.
A Master was a rarity anywhere in the duchy. She had likely gone her whole life without a single challenge to her title as the strongest illusionist. Right up until today.
Reciting the mantra under my breath, I rapped my knuckles on the stair railing.
They were about to discover just how many bedrooms this simple box of a building contained — along with swimming pools, fountains, endless corridors, and acrobatic troupes weaving through passages that were mazelike enough without them.
Whether they ever fought their way out would rest entirely on the ability of their leader — a woman by the name of Birch.
"How long do you need?" I asked Lucian.
"Two hours... no — to move the archive to the harbor in full, I'd need three at the bare minimum."
"Understood."
I leaned on the railing and gazed down at the illusion unfurling across the stairwell below.
"Off you go. I'll keep them entertained for three hours or so."