TQG 66

66. Irvine

I was pulled out of my post-victory reverie by a sound from the stables.  I turned, ready to grab my sword back out of my inventory, but the stableboy identified himself by way of an unmanly squeak, and I relaxed slightly.

“Come on out.  It’s over, I think,” I said, and the towheaded lad emerged from his hiding place.  He was twelve or thirteen, I judged, and I wondered whether that made him younger or older than me.  After all, although my status screen said that I was fifteen, I had only actually experienced ten of those years.

“You’re very strong, Sir,” the boy said nervously.  “I’m sorry.  When they came to town I wanted to try to warn you.  They came to me asking after your horse, and I told them I hadn’t seen nothing!  But they kept an eye on me while they were interrogating the innkeeper, so I didn’t have a chance to sneak away.”

“I’m not a knight, so you shouldn’t call me Sir,” I told the boy.  “What was your name again?”

“Irvine.”

“Irvine, are the bandits in this land really so bold that they simply walk into lawful villages and threaten innocent travelers?” I asked.

The boy hesitated, then nodded.  “It’s worse than that.  They make us pay them not to kill us.  It’s twice again what we pay in taxes, and when we can’t pay in coin they take our food and animals and anything else they can get their hands on.  The inn is one of the only places they leave alone, and honestly that’s because we’re one of the few places that the constabulary would actually chase after them if they burned us down.  They burned down the Millers’ farm just last winter because the Millers couldn’t afford their ‘protection’ any longer.”

I squeezed my fist.  “And the steward and the constable?  Why have they not sent word to the crown for help in clearing out this rabble?”

“’Cording to the constable, the bandits don’t exist,” Irvine informed me.  “Says if there were bandits, then there would be murders, and the bandit’s don’t usually kill you.  They just rob you until you starve to death.  And nobody hears from the steward except when its time to assess taxes.  Most honest folk don’t have the coins to pay either the taxes or the bandits, so they’re forced to pay in food and livestock.  Lots of folk go hungry around here, Sir.”

“Don’t call me sir,” I repeated absently.  With a slight effort of will, I communicated to Shadow that I wished for him to manifest himself, and he emerged from my shadow in a heartbeat.  “Irvine, please saddle my horse.  I don’t believe I will be staying in this village overnight after all.  It seems that I have a negligent, and perhaps corrupt, constable to speak with.”

“I wish you luck, sir, but I doubt you’ll be able to move him.  The folks say that he’s paid hundred gold a year to look the other way for the bandits, sir.”

“Don’t call me sir,” I said, a little more sternly this time.  “Look, Irvine, the truth is that I’m an Earl.  If you insist on calling me some sort of honorific, then ‘My Lord’ would be the proper form of address.”

Rather than reassuring the boy, he abruptly prostrated himself before me, which simply made me even more uncomfortable.  “Forgive me, My Lord!  I had no idea you were of noble birth!  I--”

“Stop, stop, stand up,” I said.  “Look, here, I’ll show you.  This is the proper way for a citizen to bow to a lord.”

I showed him the exactly correct posture to begin the bow, the motions and depth to which he should lower himself, informed him how long he should hold the position.  I then spent several moments explaining the nuances, although it was clear from the boy’s awed expressions that the lesson wouldn’t be sinking in anytime soon.  I ended the lesson with a hint of exasperation as the boy tried, and failed, to correctly emulate my bow.

“Perfect,” I lied.  “But don’t worry too much about bowing outside of an official audience.  I mean, I didn’t introduce myself, so there’s no way that you could have known.  Most of the time a noble shouldn’t expect formalities like this unless they have servants with them to announce them, and to educate their visitors on the proper etiquette.  And even then, in the last ten years or so, with the arrival of the Travelers … well, it’s very hit or miss on whether or not a Traveler is willing to display any respect for noble blood at all.  The ones who do are often too enthusiastic about it, while most seem to disregard it entirely.  That attitude has begun to bleed over into the Natives of the capital, and only the most strict of the nobles there still insist upon it.  I personally do not care much one way or the other.”

“Thank you, my lord, for the lesson!  I will show the others and practice hard!  I really am lucky to have met you, or I might have embarrassed myself should the new landlord ever come to our little village, although the elders say that is very unlikely.  They say that he is a spoiled brat who has never set foot outside of the capitol, a royal bastard who was only given his title and lands by the mercy of the late king, and that he’s unlikely to view us as anything other than a source of income to be bled dry to support his lavish lifestyle.  They say that we can expect taxes to triple next season, and that we can forget about help with the bandits from him!”

“Who says this?” I asked.

“It’s the word throughout the shire, My Lord.  But ultimately I suppose it’s the steward’s men who have been spreading the rumors.  My pa says that it’s fifty fifty either way whether their words are true, as it might just be that the good steward doesn’t want us peasants appealing to the lord directly for help.  I certainly wish that we had a lord like you instead.  Someone who’s not afraid to stand up to bandits!”

I covered my face in frustration.  “Irvine . . . I am Earl Hail Jeoran.”  The look on the boys face showed that he did not recognize my name immediately, so I clarified.  “I’m lord of North Shire and Thorn March, Irvine.  These lands were given to me by my grandfather just before he was murdered.  I hadn’t had time to visit them before now, and it seems that was a mistake.”

The boy’s expression turned from confusion to mortification to terror as he realized his error.  He again prostrated himself, to my frustration, as he gushed to apologize for his disrespect and insult.

“Irvine, please stop!  Stand up!” I begged.  “Look, I’m not angry at you, honest.  Actually I’m grateful, you’ve been a valuable source of information.”

“Please don’t have me whipped, My Lord!” the boy sobbed.

“I am not going to have you whipped!” I nearly shouted.

“My grandfather once worked in the last lord’s manor, but he was thrown out after he spilled a glass of wine while serving the lord breakfast, and the lord had him whipped down to a tenth of his health!  Then they just threw him out into the snow!  If I had known who you were, My Lord, I swear I would never have been so --”

I abruptly [Polymorphed] him into a rabbit.  “There.  That is your punishment for the disrespect you have shown me.  Once the magic fades, we will not speak of it again,” I told the rabbit Irvine.  I honestly did it just to stop him from blundering even worse than he already had, but I knew that sometimes if you ‘punish’ someone for their mistakes they would feel better afterwards.  “Now then, when the magic fades and you return to your true form, I expect you to saddle my steed and prepare him for a fast journey.  I have to get to Ebbyvale soon to speak with my constable and my steward.”

I left Shadow and the [Polymorphed] stable boy behind, returning to the inn, where the innkeeper was nowhere to be found at first.  I checked the kitchen only to find it empty, but I heard a noise from the cellar, so I investigated that next and found the innkeeper and his staff hiding there.

“Have you finished washing my property?” I asked of him.  “It seems that I will not be spending the night in this village after all.”

The man sputtered, clearly surprised to see me so calm after being assaulted by the bandits he had failed to hide me from.  I did not bear him a grudge over revealing my location, as although he was level forty, he clearly did not have a combat class, and it was clear that the locals were used to capitulating to the bandits.  When he saw that I was not burning his inn down in my outrage, he eventually recovered and showed me where my clothes were drying outside.  They were clean, but still damp.  I equipped them directly using the system rather than putting the damp things on directly.

Somewhat uncomfortable in the half-dried clothing, I tossed the innkeeper a few coins for his services.  He seemed surprised, but they quickly disappeared into his inventory.

“Do the bandits often ambush your guests?” I inquired.

“Not in the village, My Lord.  Usually they get them on the road, and then they come to my establishment to drown their sorrows with whatever pocket change they manage to hide,” the man admitted.  “I had thought you must have already met them and come to an accord with them before you arrived.  I swear by my honor that it was not my intention to disarm you to make their job easier for them.  I pay six gold per month to the bandits for the safety of my establishment and my guests I do, and I’m quite angry that those ruffians have violated their agreement.  But who am I to turn to?  The constable refuses to admit that the bandits exist, even as he takes their bribes, and the steward will not hear of our troubles at all.  He insists that we are simply trying to get out of our taxes, which are still based on the assessment from thirty years ago, when this land was more prosperous and without the plague of banditry which besets it now.”

“Of course they are,” I sighed.  Assessments were supposed to take place every seven years, but it wasn’t uncommon for a lord to be negligent on the duty in order to both save the coin and effort that such an undertaking requires and to set the taxes at a high point in a land’s prosperity.

I wondered if my grandfather had known of all the problems that beset the lands he had given me before he’d assigned them.  Probably.  It could have been part of some sort of test, to see how I would handle the governance, whether or not I could bring these neglected lands into prosperity.  Certainly Uncle Auroras had seemed to know; I suspected he had deliberately dumped me on a path where he could expect that I would encounter the bandits.

Taking my leave of the beleaguered innkeeper, I returned to the front yard, where Irvine was holding Shadow for me.  I tossed him another silver coin for his trouble, mounted my horse, and turned to leave.

“My Lord?” Irvine said before I rode away.  “You should know, some of the constable’s men, well, they’re just as bad as the bandits themselves.  Some of them are worse.”

“Thank you for the warning, Irvine,” I said, and I tossed him another silver.  “Don’t worry.  I won’t be facing them alone.  I have powerful allies, and together we’ll set the shire to rights.  You have my word on that.”

The lad seemed surprised by my promise, then he broke into a goofy grin.  “I’ll be telling my grandkids about this day, I wager.  The day I met the great Earl Jeoran and took care of his mighty steed on his way to do battle and save the shire from bandits.”

I shook my head.  “Perhaps you will.  Blessings of Thedum upon you and your house, Irvine.”

“Blessings of Thedum upon you, Hail Jeoran,” the boy responded.

Kicking Shadow into a gallop, I updated the guild on my findings and my intentions.  In the truest display of the Travelers’ strange mentality I had ever seen, they were simultaneously extremely excited by the trouble I had uncovered in my lands, and just as enthusiastic to help end it.  I was informed that I could expect over a hundred Travelers of mixed levels to meet me in Ebbyvale, many of whom were already scouring the town for rumors, information, and hidden quests.

I couldn’t share their enthusiasm, but at least I wouldn’t have to do this task alone.