Disregard Fantasy, Acquire Currency: 7 (Patreon)

A week had passed since Willem’s introduction to the aloof and impartial Countess Anne Claire van der Duyt. She had suggested that he base himself out of the count’s estate—undoubtedly to save him some starting costs for his business, and for no other reason—but Willem knew that he had to have a home in the city to see from the eyes of a consumer, and not to give society members the impression he was too closely linked with local governments. Plus, independence fostered that entrepreneurial mindset.

In the end, he purchased a home just on the outskirts of the noble quarter. It was a homey wooden structure with two floors, overshadowed by the giant mansions of the nobility yet of significant size enough none would doubt that he was well-off. It was close enough to the bourgeoisie that crime would be unlikely, yet not inside the quarter to give the impression of unapproachability.

It was also considerably cheaper than anything inside the noble quarter.

Dirk and Willem had separate rooms, and there was additional space for an office. Willem took a desk with wood rot he found in a back alley, hauling it inside his home to temporarily fill the office until he could find a good deal for proper furniture. Hopefully, he could convince Anne Claire to give him proper furnishings for free.

Dirk entered the room as Willem examined the ‘new’ desk, pulling off crumbling bits. His attendant walked up to it, saying, “This is what Anne Claire sent over—the census records for last year.”

Dirk set the stack of papers down. The desk creaked, then folded inward. Willem stepped back in surprise as the rotting thing failed, then looked at Dirk.

“First order of business for you, Dirk—anger management training.” He shook his head and gestured. “I just got that desk.”

Dirk sighed, muttering questions about how Willem even got the thing inside in the first place. He picked up the papers, cleaned them off, then handed them to Willem. “What’ll come after this?”

“A lot of reading. Hours and hours of it. We’ll need…” Willem took the papers, then paused as he read them. He pulled more and more papers back, then sat on the floor to spread them out. “It’s just names and properties.” He looked up. “When’s she going to send the rest?”

“The rest?” Dirk repeated.

“Yeah.” Willem nodded, looking through everything. “I mean—the government has to reach its hands down my pants, right? To do that, they need detailed assessments of what a person does for a living, what property they own, et cetera.”

“Well…” Dirk kneeled down, looking at the papers. “The van Brugh estate collects a tax on crop yields, and is paid subsidies by the crown for defense of the border. It’s not the largest territory, and it doesn’t have an excessive amount of people. But out here in the city, it’s different.”

“How is it different?” Willem looked up suspiciously.

“The only taxation that the government does directly, as far as I know, are tolls and tariffs. Both are handled at the docks or the gates, person-to-person.”

Willem nodded. “Are you about to give me the best news of my life? Are there no taxes? I’m certain I read there are, though.”

“No, of course not.” Dirk shook his head. “The right of taxation is auctioned off every year to third parties. They pay a sizable lump fee, and in return, they’re leased the right to collect taxes from landowners. They collect the surplus.”

“Tax farming?” Willem mimed vomiting. “Blehh. Blehhhhh. Absolutely disgusting.”

Dirk narrowed his eyes. “What’s so terrible about it? It makes the revenue coming to the reigning lord consistent, while minimizing the amount of labor.”

“Ask France why it’s so bad,” said Willem off-handedly as he studied the documents.

“Who’s France?”

“Not anyone I know, hopefully.” Willem shook his head, then looked up. “Tax farming creates government-licensed gangsters. A license to steal—that’s what it is. They come to your place of business, shake you down for all you’re good for. They’re incentivized to be excessive—you said yourself, they collect the surplus. Once a month, or a quarter, or whenever… they come knocking, wringing you dry. It’s inefficient, and it’s burdensome. And considering the types of people that get involved in such a business, I do not want to go to them, begging for their records. But it’s also going to be tremendously labor-intensive to gather the information from nothing.”

Dirk said nothing as Willem mused.

“Is there anywhere else that takes money from everyone?” Willem looked up.

“Well… tolls, tariffs…”

“Yeah, you said that.” Willem gestured. “I need more. Any legitimate organizations?”

Dirk scratched his eyes, exhausted dealing with this person. “I don’t know. Tithes, I guess.”

“Tithes?” Willem seemed to sparkle. “And is that paid to a church, perchance?”

“Well… yes.” Dirk narrowed his eyes.

Willem rose to his feet, wiping free his hands. “Dirk, I seem to have found God. He was in a pot of gold at the end of a rainbow.”

#####

Dirk and Willem ate outside, chewing on their freshly-caught and freshly-cooked lobsters purchased at the port as they stared at a formidable stone structure. Its walls were all gray, while its stained-glass windows were black and white and depicted two figures—one a man, always in black, and the other a woman, always in white.  

Willem pondered, “What do they do to heretics in these parts?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think about it often, because I’m a devout faithful,” Dirk said, protecting himself first. “In the countryside you might get hanged or burned alive, but cities have always been a little freer about these things. Of course, it all depends on the religion in question.”

“Are gods real, Dirk?” Willem questioned solemnly.

“Real? Considering the miracle of—”

“Yeah, yeah, the miracle of life, so on and so on.” Willem waved his words away, then took another bite of his lobster. He spoke with his mouth full, asking, “But have you ever seen some fellow get smote for saying the wrong things? Ever seen a miracle?”

Dirk cringed as food fell from Willem’s mouth. “Our gods never directly intervene. They use their followers as conduits for their will.”

“That’s a relief.” Willem wiped his hands away. “I know people. Sky-people, though… it’s a bit beyond me. So, give me the brief version. That church—what do I worship, and how do I act before the priests?”

Dirk fidgeted uncomfortably as he tore into the lobster. “Priestesses. They only let females lead congregations.”

“Alright. Unique, I think.” Willem nodded. “What am I working with? Do we have a cosmogony? Do we have an eschatology? Give me the ins and outs of the religion before I go asking them for things.”

Dirk had known religious education was lacking in some of the frontier regions, but he’d no idea it was to this extent. He cleared his throat and asked, “Would you like me to recite the first passage of the Book of Beginnings?”

“Hit me,” Willem gestured.

Dirk rather sagely recited, “The world was borne of the act of two gods, man and woman; one of death, one of life, who perished together to birth the world. The god of death bestowed strength upon men, but charged him to defend and protect his people and, chiefly, women. The goddess of life bestowed the ability to create life upon women, and the responsibility to teach their children how the world should be. Like this, the world exists in a state of duality. It is every man's duty to fight in defense of his faith and his people, and it is every woman's duty to teach and give life.”

Willem didn’t look particular moved. “Alright. It’s a dualism thing. Are there any customs I have to observe?”

“Hmm. Be respectful, reverent, patient. Don’t get angry. Don’t joke.” Dirk looked at him pointedly.

“You say that like it’ll be challenging.”

#####

Acolyte Nadine looked upon this tall, broad-shouldered handsome man with some pity. She was trying to gently let him down, but he was quite insistent.

After yet another plea to access the records they kept of churchgoers, she continued to politely say, “If the intent of your society was targeted toward the less-looked after, such as those in the slums or the orphanages, the priestess might be willing to see you. As it is, I don’t think she would be willing to disclose the information of our faithful for this cause. The information we collect about the members of this cathedral is used for sacred purposes alone, such as the collection of offerings that we use to fund our charitable endeavors. Your society, while noble in its aim, isn’t quite what we look toward.”

Willem leaned in. “Ultimately, though, it’s for the common good. If you made that information publicly accessible, people could learn from it. As I recall from the first passage of the Book of Beginnings, it’s the duty of the faithful to teach.”

Nadine smiled as pleasantly as she could manage. “I’m sorry, sir. We have an obligation to our congregation. We couldn’t betray that trust.”

Willem sighed, falling back in the chair she’d offered him. “Alright. I understand your position. But… but I will say this.” He leaned in, reinvigorated. “Regarding my society’s long-term goal, I do intend to make loans more easily-accessible for everyone, including some of the less-looked after that you mentioned.”

Acolyte Nadine blinked uncertainly. “Sir, I’m not truly educated on matters like these.”

“Well, it’s very simple.” He laid his hands on her desk. “I believe it’s the fundamental right of every human being to be in debt. From the bottom of my heart, I believe you have the right to have a negative net worth.”

“Sir?”

“Currently, loans are a thing for the wealthy. But long-term, with the introduction of a proper credit market…” he trailed off. “Never mind. Is there nothing I can do to change your mind?”

“It’s not my mind, sir. If I could, I would. But the rules of the church are very ironclad.” She shook her head. “I’m afraid it can’t be done without proper justification, and the express approval of this cathedral’s priestess.”

“Then… thank you for your time,” Willem conceded.

#####

“Don’t worry, Willem,” Dirk said, trying to keep the mirth from his voice as he poured the tea from the kettle freshly heated over the hearth into the former young lord’s cup. “Counts, dukes, and kings have all tried to employ the church and their meticulous record-keeping to their ends. None of them succeeded. It’s no surprise that you failed. You might say it’s natural.”

“Mmm.” Willem sipped the tea. “This is bad, Dirk. Really bad.”

Dirk questioned if he’d gone too far with his putdown. “It’s not the end of the world. You had one small setback. The tax farmers might not be—"

“I meant the tea.” Willem set his cup atop a makeshift table that he’d also salvaged from the street—it was just an empty overturned barrel, still reeking of fish smell. “I haven’t given up on the church.”

“Really?” Dirk squinted at him, all sympathy lost.

“Yeah. I saw their library. I’d go so far as to call it grand. And when I heard how much information they collect from their churchgoers, it’s obvious that there’s an opportunity.” He put his hands out, then mimed spreading something apart. “I just need to pry free that pearl of knowledge from its marble, cathedral-shaped shell.”

“I’m sure a significant donation might change some minds.” Dirk shrugged. “I’m not sure how the local priestess is regarding these things. At the very least, a donation would get you some positive attention.”

“Giving away money? Rubs me wrong.” Willem shook his head. “No… if I spend money, I want it to have some meaning, some purpose. Giving it away to some nebulous charity isn’t what I want to do. And it sounds corrupt—I pay you; you give me information. No… I have something else in mind.”

“Very noble of you,” Dirk said sarcastically, having grown comfortable Willem was rather carefree.

“What do you know about poor people?” Willem looked over.

“What?” Dirk laughed. “Are you… is that a serious question?”

“Somewhat.” Willem crossed his arms, leaning up against the bare wooden wall of his new home. “It’s the aspiration of every poor person to stop being poor, right?”

“I think it’s a little more complex than that…”

“Listen. I think the poor are the solution to this problem I’m having,” Willem looked over. “The question is… how?