Exploitable Weaknesses by Brian Keller (red queen free ebook txt) 📗

He made his way back to the docks, grateful that no one from the neighboring ships were standing by to accost him. If he were completely truthful with himself, he was still feeling a bit out of sorts following the blast of whatever-that-was from the mages. There was still so much he didn’t understand about Talent and affinities, but that shouldn’t be surprising, considering there were entire curricula devoted to those studies at the University. He wondered if the death of the Spymaster might dampen the mages’ interest in him, or if it would merely serve to further pique their interest.

As he passed through the Waterfront, he looked to see if the Watch had returned in force. They hadn’t. Could they still be looking for him?

Cooper slept later than usual the following morning but the fearful shouts and the clatter of people gathering weapons and rushing out of the main hall woke him quickly. He hadn’t undressed fully for bed last night. Instead he’d merely loosened several straps and buckles for comfort, took off his belt, and fell into bed. Now, he quickly gathered his belt and ran for the door. Once his vision adjusted to the morning light, he saw a tight knot of people to the south and a loose crowd of Ruins residents surrounding them. There were no happy faces to be seen.

Cooper rushed forward, not knowing what lay ahead. He heard several voices from the small knot of people in the center of the gathering, shouting that they’d already paid their taxes. As he drew closer he could see that there were several armored men-at-arms surrounding a worried-looking man. The soldiers were facing away from the man, protecting him. Their hands never left their sheathed weapons, but it seemed as if they weren’t even looking at the people, they were watching for some unnamed evil that was reputed to dwell in the Ruins. Mister Ysel was near the center of the crowd, attempting to bring order from the chaos but his voice could barely be heard over the shouting. His frustration was evident. He turned his back to the soldiers, faced the crowd and swept his arms wide. He shouted, “Quiet!” What followed wasn’t total silence, but now a conversation could be possible. He turned back to face the man at the center of the guards, “Now you’ve seen our deeds, showing that we are rightful owners of the land, but you can also see that we’re hardly conducting taxable commerce here.” He gave the man a casual, dismissive wave, “You should leave and come back once we have businesses established.”

The frightened man at the center of the bunch of soldiers sounded hesitant, timid, but he was unwilling to ignore what he knew was his duty. His reed-thin voice carried well enough, “Well, t-t-there’s construction materials here, so there’s tax to be assessed against the sale of those materials.” Mister Ysel seemed to have an answer prepared, “Those materials were purchased elsewhere and carried here. Taxation occurs at the point of purchase, unless there’s an “Unloading Tax” that I’m unaware of.” The Tax Collector fussed with his satchel, then replied, “If they were shipped from elsewhere, then there are shipping taxes to consider.” The noise from the surrounding crowd had ceased entirely now. Mister Ysel smiled, “Shipping tax is assessed at the point of origin, not at the destination.” The city official’s fidgeting increased, “Then there are tariffs to be levied.” Mister Ysel had obviously rehearsed this scene many times in his mind. He puffed his chest as if playing to the crowd, “Tariffs are assessed against imported goods. These materials came from within the Principality.”

The small man was now searching for something, anything he could tax, “You’re all eating meals here. Who’s selling the food?” He leaned from side to side to peer around his guard detail, as if to see someone holding up a hand to confess. Mister Ysel called out loud enough for everyone to hear, “The ingredients are purchased elsewhere, same as the construction materials. This is then provided to the cooks, they prepare it and it is consumed communally. The only transaction taking place was when the raw meats and ingredients were purchased.”

Cooper had remained silent. He chose this moment to be an anonymous voice from the crowd. He called out, “Has he shown his own credentials? Sounds to me like he’s not really sure why he’s here. How do we know he’s not some kind of shakedown artist?” The men-at-arms jostled to try and see who had just spoken, but Cooper had ducked behind several other residents. Mister Ysel smiled, “That raises a valid point. You’ve arrived unannounced and demanded taxes. How do we know that you are who you say you are?” This flustered the already frustrated bureaucrat, who replied, “I am here by the expressed order of the Prince, himself!” Mister Ysel crossed his arms over his chest, “I highly doubt that. It would be far simpler to display your credentials than it would be to convince me that the Prince takes a personal hand in assigning tasks to tax collectors.”

The tax collector ripped open his satchel and stepped out from behind the soldiers. He thrust a small sheaf of papers at Mister Ysel, and with voice filled with indignation, he retorted “My credentials. Inspect them all you like, if you can read.” Mister Ysel made a show of perusing each page and began to pace a few steps as he read through them. By the time he’d finished, the tax collector was fairly quivering with rage. Mister Ysel calmly returned the papers to the man, “Everything seems to be in order, though I’m still not entirely certain why you’re here.” The man stamped his foot, his voice had almost become a screech, “I am here to assess taxes!” Mister Ysel turned a full circle, as if