Disregard Fantasy, Acquire Currency Chapter 4 (Patreon)

Lennard stared down at the paper splayed out before him. On the very bottom of it was a signature. The part that read ‘Willem’ looked practiced and refined, while the ‘van Brugh’ looked like a messy scrawl, almost as if the man wasn’t used to signing his own last name. Maybe he wasn’t—Willem didn’t have many official duties in the household.

He leaned back in his chair, feeling odd. His younger brother had asked for only three things: to be disinherited while keeping his name, to be paid a somewhat sizable sum of gold, and to be transported with armed guards—plus the one known as Dirk—to the capital city of the nearby county. The contract detailed that in precise language. Their sister was married to the count residing there, but as far as Lennard knew, that was the only connection Willem actually had with the place.

Willem had spent years honing his swordplay and his aura. Lennard had always felt a secret panic watching him train, watching him grow more skillful every day. If envy was the thief of joy, it had robbed much of his. Willem rose higher far younger, and eventually caught up to Lennard, who was ten years his senior. He had thought Willem aimed to take his place as heir. Their father did nothing to disabuse him of the notion it would be possible.

Now… their father was dying, and Willem had expressed an earnest desire to leave.  

A signature, and a visit to the magistrate. That was all it would take to rid himself of this tremendous fear—a monstrously talented younger brother. Lennard knew his father wouldn’t approve. But he wasn’t here, now—he couldn’t linger over his shoulder, judging his every move.

Lennard leaned forward quickly, grabbing the quill and dipping it in ink. He lifted it up, watching it drip down, then brought it to the parchment. He rapidly inked his name, then set down the quill. With a ring of the bell, the door opened. His father’s—no, his steward entered.

“When the ink dries…” Lennard stood, tapping the paper. “Deliver this to the magistrate’s office. Bring Lennard, and bring what’s dictated on this contract. Don’t leave until you see the magistrate verify it’s done.”

#####

“Is this really gold? It’s so light…” Willem marveled as he hefted the chest.

Dirk stared with some degree of annoyance as Willem demonstrated the tremendous strength that one who was versed in the use of aura could exercise. He’d been paid for a year of service, and serve he would, but he wasn’t particularly eager to see what service under this eccentric noble entailed. But Dirk’s family was eating well off the money he’d made, so he couldn’t complain.

“It’s gold, young lord,” Dirk confirmed. “There’s no doubt.”

“Drop the stiffness. Just call me Willem, now.” Willem fit the box into the carriage, then shut the trunk. He looked around at his armed escort. “I’m surprised it’s gone so easily. I expected a little resistance, frankly, a little bartering. I should’ve named a higher price. Should’ve done my research. But what’s done is done. Crisis averted.” He beckoned. “Let’s see this enchanted carriage.”

Willem clambered into the carriage. It expanded into a vast open space—a full living room, replete with a table and bed—and he looked around in awe. “It really is magic.”

“Have you never been inside an enchanted carriage?” Dirk asked skeptically. “If you really liked business so much, you’d know this is one of the best-selling services of the mages. They rent these out.”

“Sounds like quite the nightmare to manage. Maintenance, retrieval, theft… forget that.” Willem walked to one of the chairs, testing it. “There’s something you have to consider, Dirk. Some businesses, you make a lot of money, but you have to work very hard. Some businesses, you don’t work very hard, but you don’t make a lot of money.” He sat down the chair boldly. “The perfect business is one where you sit on your ass all day and people throw cash at you like they can’t wait to get rid of it.”

Dirk signaled the driver to begin moving, then entered inside. “And that’s the insurance business you spoke of?”

“Insurance is the stepping stone.” He gestured. “Sit.”

Dirk obeyed. “Why are we going to Gent?”

“Gent, with a hard G?” Willem scratched his throat. “I thought it was Gent, like gentleman. Well, it’s simple. It’s a decent-sized city away from any hostile bordering nations. It has a port. It was described as a beautiful place in multiple accounts, which I suspect means it has some wealthy clientele. And apparently, my sister is the countess there. Do you know her full name?”

“Catharina van der Duyn,” Dirk recalled, having studied the family before coming to serve here.

“Yeah, that. I’m going to see if she can help me access census records. Insurance needs good data.” Willem crossed his legs. “I intend to start my first business there, if it’s a suitable location.”

Dirk didn’t know how far he could push his questions. Despite his rudeness, Willem hadn’t ever reprimanded him in the traditional sense of the word. He decided to push his luck.

“What do you actually intend to do with your business?”

“Mm. My favorite subject. You’ll be working there, so I suppose I’ll tell you.” Willem looked around. “Biggest problem in insurance besides paying out claims is fraud. You insure a house—somebody overstates the house’s value, burns it down. You insure a boat—sucker ‘sinks.’ I imagine if I insured an enchanted carriage, some mage would cast a spell of invisibility and say it was stolen. Can they do that?”

“I suppose,” Dirk nodded.

“I’ll need to read more about this magic thingamajig. It’s like that King of the Rings series my nephews raved about.” Willem shook his head. “To prevent fraud, you need proper research, laborers, manhours… all of which cost money. Well, I intend on founding something that’s difficult to defraud even with light labor. Care to guess?”

“Property would be the safest, I should think,” Dirk guessed. “Hard to hide.”

Willem smiled. “You’re smarter than your vacant expression lets on. Property insurance was a consideration, but not my first. I’m going to insure life.”

“Life?”

“Yes indeed. I’m thinking of calling it the Society of Assured Prosperity—SOAP, if you want to shorten it. I intend to market it toward the wives of wealthy people, or those raising children alone. When the person the policy is insuring perishes, the society will take care of the burial and any surviving dependents according to their preconceived instructions. It’ll put the minds of people at ease, knowing their spouse or their children will be taken care of after their passing.

“It’ll be easy to avoid taxes when we have such a benevolent goal,” Willem continued. “The payouts will be distributed in installments instead of lump sums, lessening the burden of claims. If I can, I hope to employ the society members themselves as free labor by planting the notion they should take care of their fellow society members. As for fraud… well, I don’t think we’ll have too many problems. Maybe a murder or two.”

Dirk felt a chill as Willem outlined his business so concisely. He didn’t need to be told more to know that this notion would sell. Dirk himself might consider joining such a thing for his siblings, and that scared him most of all.

“If we’re lucky, we’ll get benevolent endowments.” Willem shrugged. “Maybe the local government will chip in. I won’t count on it.”

“But what you talked about earlier… you’d really lend out the money that people give you for helping their surviving relatives?” Dirk asked incredulously.

Willem narrowed his eyes. “Are you an idiot? Of course. I’ll make that very clear to everyone that joins, too.” He leaned in. “Would you prefer I keep it in a big chest in a vault, only taking what I need when I need it? It wouldn’t last. Let me tell you something, Dirk.” He produced a gold coin. “These coins were created. More of them can be created. The more of them are, the less each is worth. Every coin we hide away, hoarding, is one that is removed from the market. With proper cash flow, economies flourish. Everyone lives better.”

Willem flicked the coin, and Dirk caught it. “Cash is trash. Every second, its value is being inflated away. A smart man invests his cash to promote commerce and help businesses grow. And all he expects in return for the risk that entails? A little profit. It’s not so much to ask.”

Dirk studied the coin. He’d thought Willem a naïve young lord, not properly understanding the things he was suggesting… but now, Dirk wasn’t so certain this wasn’t going to be possible.

#####

It was a joyous day in the Brugh estate for the maids.

They walked with happy heads, singing light tunes and speaking in easy tones to one another. In less than a week, they had lost two tyrants. First, Baron Tielman, who had demanded absolute perfection from each and every one of them, had fallen. After, young lord Willem, who was notoriously and unnecessarily cruel to all those he crossed paths with, had departed, likely never to return.

One such maid opened the door to the baron’s bedroom, happily humming as she dusted. The first few days, it had been a bit scary being so close to the sleeping baron. But after many days of doing this, he’d not stirred once—she was even bold enough to whistle, sing, and hum. She dusted the windowsills, the drawers, the bedframe…

Until she realized cold blue eyes were peering at her. With a gasp, she froze.

“Fetch… my steward,” Baron Tielman said, voice a thin whip.

#####

Baron Tielman sat up in his bed. Even breathing was a little difficult for him right now, but it was better than the alternative. The healer examined him.

“It seems like the worst of the poison has left his system,” the man declared, the white magic shining on his fingertips fading away. “It’ll take some time for it to be fully purged. In the meantime, you’ll need to refrain from exercising your aura, elsewise it might excite the Clatgrass and send you back to bed.”

“Hmm.” Tielman flexed his hand. He looked up at his eldest son. “What happened in my absence?”

“I’ve… I’ve detained the kitchen staff that was working that day, and I’ve had knights extensively questioning any and all who might’ve witnessed anything.”

“And?”

Lennard lowered his head. “Nothing.”

“Hmm. As expected.” Tielman rubbed his throat. “Is Willem alright?”

Lennard went silent.

“Answer me,” Tielman said firmly. “Hold nothing back.”

“Willem wasn’t poisoned,” Lennard confirmed.

“Good.” Tielman gestured. “Send him to me.”

When Lennard went silent once again, the steward answered, “Willem has left, baron.”

Tielman narrowed his eyes. “He went through with what we’d discussed? He left for the capital?” The baron looked between the silent pair. “Speak!”

“Willem…” Lennard took a deep breath. “He disinherited himself, father.”
#####
The business models outlined in this story are all intended to be modeled after real-world parallels. In this case, the idea Willem mentions isn't entirely new: it's a burial club. They've existed as far back as ancient Rome. In particular, this one might be considered the closest parallel to the College of Aesculapius and Hygia, which explicitly lent its money with interest to cover expenses! Of course, they were a bit more humanitarian-driven than what Willem has in mind, I imagine...