Death After Death

Chapter 406 - Nothing Unusual

When Simon finally arranged a chance meeting with the man, he left his cloak and even his armor in the room. He let his squire come too, but only because having a child with him made him even less conspicuous. Anyone who saw them might think he was just a craftsman or a trader out for a walk with his son.

He had a feeling that the Unspoken would not have approved of such an approach, but then, he didn’t care; as long as he didn’t report encountering a demon or a witch, they didn’t seem to care what he did. They would care even less if he actually brought back coins or the valuables of someone he’d denounced, but he couldn’t be bothered with that. The best he could do was bring back evil grimoires that he didn’t think would cause too much trouble.

For a semi-secret organization, they loved to show their colors, rubbing their unacknowledged existence in everyone’s faces while simultaneously hiding behind a veil of secrecy. As far as Simon was concerned, it was only their small numbers that kept the mystique alive. There were only a few hundred members of the group, and less that only half of them were knights. When one considered that most of those knights were away from the Broken Tower on any given week, the odds that a given village or city would see one shrank dramatically. Simon didn’t worry too much about that, though. Instead, he enjoyed a view of the city free of the fear he’d been afforded so far.

It was nice. He was jostled a lot more on the streets than he would have been otherwise, but his physique these days made the other person move instead of him, almost every time. It wasn’t something he flaunted, though it did feel strange to be out without the hard shell of his armor. He’d never cared for platemail in previous lives, but now it had become a part of him. As such, the muscles it took to carry it and fight in it were hardly less imposing.

What Simon found when he reached the market was hardly impressive. The merchant wasn’t trading forgotten tomes or Murani artifacts from far-flung cities. He wasn’t even selling shady herbal cures. He was just buying and selling grain. It was completely run-of-the-mill stuff. He had wheat, millet, and barley in various quantities and qualities.

Not only was it the last thing the Unspoken should have worried about, but it wasn’t even a place he could linger without drawing attention unless he wanted to start bidding for bushels. Suddenly, this whole thing felt like a personal vendetta he’d been roped into. The man’s aura wasn’t a particularly bright white; he obviously had his share of vices and misdeeds, but he didn’t seem to be a bad person, and even when Simon stared into the man, he could see no mortal sins or any witchmarks coloring his soul.

He lingered for a while, letting Varten sample some of the various fruits of the harvest, like ground cherries and goose berries, which didn’t grow anywhere near Crowvar. As he did that, though, he already decided he’d get nothing here. The place was a complete bust. That afternoon, he left Varten at their inn with some ready coin for dinner for a day or two, and he went for a ride to see Count Trantis.

His squire didn’t like that at all, but Simon would not be bent by his pleading. “You’ll be much safer here,” he insisted. The Broken Oar wasn’t in the best part of town, but then, Leipzin didn’t seem to have any really bad neighborhoods that Simon had seen so far. Those clung outside beyond the city walls.

“Just mind your studies while I'm gone,” he admonished the thirteen-year-old. “If you do all your reading, we’ll find something fun to do as a treat, an outing perhaps.”

That didn’t thrill the boy, but honestly, Simon wasn’t thrilled about leaving him behind either. He’d never leave a thirteen-year-old boy home alone under normal circumstances. They made movies on Earth about all the trouble they’d get into on their own once upon a time. He was pretty sure he’d seen some, though he couldn’t remember any titles.

Here, the choice wasn’t between no danger and some danger, though. Here he was choosing to leave Varten in a safe city, or dragging him off to the manor of a conniving count. Anything might happen there, and Simon had died to enough ambushes that he always expected them on some level now.

He promised he’d be back the following evening, though, just the same. If he were murdered, well, eventually, Varten would go back to the Broken Tower and tell them what he knew, which would probably give him enough revenge.

You don’t even have to die, he told himself as he rode out of the gates. Well, you do, but you don’t have to stay dead. You could just wait until today in your next life, then ride back into town, and Varten would be none the wiser.

While that was true, Simon didn’t think that was very likely. The last time he’d done that, it had been for his son and the woman he wanted to be his wife. Waiting for the best part of a decade for the timing just to keep raising Varten didn’t really rate.

Still, despite his misgivings, when he reached the manor, he found only fearful, easily intimidated servants, not danger, and as he was brought to the count’s private dining room, a meal was served to Simon while the lord made his excuses with whoever it was he’d been entertaining. By the time he’d finished eating, the noble had joined him and seemed so eager he was practically drooling to find out the fate of the man he’d sicced the Unspoken on.

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“Well, have you disposed of the villain?” were the very first words he asked as soon as he shut the doors and was alone with Simon.

“I'd be able to do that quicker if I knew what it was he’d done that needed to be dealt with,” Simon answered, pretending to be patient as much as he was pretending to be on this man’s side.

His tone made it clear that he was used to getting his way, and his murky aura swirled with flickering colors that made him seem tempestuous to say the least. Well, that’s why everyone who works for him is walking on eggshells, Simon thought, realizing this was probably the man’s best behavior.

“Wh-what he’s done?” the noble sputtered.”The man has stolen from me and mine with witchcraft and treachery. He is to pay amends and, at very least, be flogged publicly. Barring that, I expect him to burn for what he’s done!”

“First, if he’s done something worth burning, then no other punishment will be sufficient," Simon answered in a tone cold enough to settle the man. “But that remains to be seen, for now. I require more evidence before passing judgment.”

Simon didn’t like to put on the whole holier-than-thou act, but it was better than dealing with this pompous asshole any other way. Slowly, the details came out. The count explained the way that the merchant traveled to and fro in his lands, buying grain from farmers as he went. Ostensibly, he was paying a good price, or at least a fair enough price for them to agree to, but when taxes were collected, the revenues were so low that the noble felt sure that his people had been bewitched.

“Why would my farmers, good men from a dozen different villages, simply give away the fruits of their labor for a pittance to a stranger? Magic can be the only explanation!” Count Trantis exclaimed. “He’s bewitched the lot of them!”

Simon asked more questions, and eventually the supporting documents came out. They told a slightly different story. The farmers all claimed they’d made the only deal on offer, and they’d gotten as good a price as anyone else, but tax records for the previous year showed a noticeable drop. It wasn’t quite the apocalyptic change that the count had led Simon to believe, and it definitely wasn’t black magic.

For a moment, he wondered how it was that Count Trantis had convinced the order to send Simon for such triviality, though he didn’t bother to ask. Rather than exchange any more than he had to with the man, he went back and forth through the ledgers and the written accounts with the books by candlelight until he found a pattern.

“Your merchant went to each of your villages at the peak of harvest, it looks like,” Simon explained, “And then through some sales tactic or merchant's trick, he convinced everyone there was a glut on the market, and they sold cheaper than they otherwise would have. That’s why they say they were paid a fair price, because they got the same price as everyone else they knew.”

“So he convinced them to take a lower price?” the count asked in a skeptical tone. “That sounds like fraud to me. He should be whipped!”

“Maybe,” Simon answered noncommittally as he flipped through the sales records, “But these people were clearly afraid that the price was going to turn even lower, so they sold while they could.”

The count started to rave about hexes and glamors again, but Simon shut that down. “That’s not magic,” he sighed, “That’s math, or maybe manipulation. He hasn’t cheated you, well, not exactly. He has cheated your people, at least I think he has, but certainly hasn’t hexed you. He just... fooled you.”

The noble purpled, and for a moment, Simon thought the man might strike him, but he didn’t even think about flinching. He might have laughed if the count had done it, but instead the noble thought better of it and stepped back, wringing his hands.

“I was… I would never… Not to a common charlatan… He must be a warlock. He must be!” Count Trantis insisted.

Simon walked through the numbers again, offering the count an explanation of how Simon thought the scam worked. Someone had mentioned that the merchant was dangerous with dice, and at this point, Simon felt sure that the only magic he possessed was either a golden tongue made for lying or an uncommon proficiency with statistics or some other exotic math. Simon had been forced to learn geometry for several art projects in Ionar, but since then, his life had been blessedly math-free. Still, looking at the proffered ledgers, he couldn’t be sure exactly what was wrong, but he was pretty sure something wasn't adding up.

The count categorically refused this analysis and insisted that Simon make an example of him. “The man is a menace!” Count Trantis insisted.

Simon pretended to listen, since he was sure whatever Whitecloak had actually been dispatched to solve this problem in another timeline would have done that much, but that was it. He was done here, and as soon as he had the opportunity, he made noises about leaving.

Unfortunately, by that point, the count wouldn’t hear of it and insisted that Simon enjoy his hospitality. That wasn’t because he cared at all about Simon, though. He made that clear when he said, “No one will ever be able to say I haven’t done my utmost to help and support your illustrious order.”

Simon accepted the offer with feigned gratitude. A bath and a bed would be nice. Still, when he woke at sunrise, he left immediately, and when the stable boy tried to stop him, insisting, “My lord will be very vexed if you leave before he can see you off,” Simon barely slowed down.

“Tell him I received a revelation, and am off to see justice done,” he answered the confused man. It was enough of a fig leaf that the noble could believe whatever he wanted, but the only resolution Simon planned to give was to tell Mr. Dekarlo to stop playing games with the count before the man had him killed.

He delivered that statement after a relaxing half-day ride back to the city, which was a total contrast from the urgent night ride he’d made the day before. Then he’d been worried about being away for too long, but now, well, the case was solved, he was pretty sure, and it wasn’t witchcraft but ego that was to blame.