called?” Dahlia asked.
Jack shook his head. “I don’t know.”
“That’s becoming too convenient an answer,” Dahlia said. She narrowed her eyes. “How do I know that all this isn’t an act? How do I know that you’re not just here trying to find out what we know and who we’ve told it to? The army knows that there are people who keep knowledge alive. I know that much. I know how many have been killed…”
The memory hit Jack like a hammer, the smell of fear and death. The heat as they were forced to stand there, lined up as neatly as if they’d been on parade… and then the killing started.
“What is it?” Dahlia asked.
Jack shook his head. “I don’t know. A fragment of something. It doesn’t matter.”
“It matters to me,” she insisted. “If you can’t give me a good answer, if you can’t give me something, then regardless of what my father says, I’ll-”
Jack didn’t get to find out what she might do though, because that was the moment when they heard the argument coming from the front of the house.
They set off in the direction of it, and Jack hadn’t realized how quickly the two of them were moving until they got closer. Maybe it was something about the tone of the voices, or maybe it was simply something about the fact that these were the first voices other than those of Dahlia and Henry he’d heard while he was there. Either way, it seemed clear that there was something very wrong there. Jack rushed forward as far as the side of the house, holding out an arm to stop Dahlia while he tried to work out what was going on.
There were four men there, all in the red and black of the royal army. Three of the four wore partial armor; fragments of plate and chain that glinted in the sun and afforded them some protection while still leaving them free to ride. One was older than the others and unarmed, carrying a ledger where they carried swords. Swords of a similar pattern to Jack’s own, he noted. Their horses stood in the farmyard, the one from the farm with them. It hadn’t seemed safe to have the horse there while Jack and Henry repaired the barn. Now though, with the horse tethered there to the others, Jack found himself wondering if that had been such a good idea.
Henry obviously didn’t like what was happening either. “You cannot take my animal.”
“Of course we can,” the older man said. He sounded too much like he was enjoying the immunity that came with having three soldiers behind him. “It is needed for the royal armies, and as part payment of the taxes you owe on this farm.”
“What taxes?” Henry demanded. “I owe no one anything.”
The other man smiled, but there was nothing pleasant about it. “This farm stands on land owned by the great kingdom. The king stretches out his hands to protect it, providing safety with the presence of his army. In his munificence, he provides health and wellbeing for the masses, security and stability for the kingdom. In return, all must contribute to the royal coffers.”
“It’s kind of him to do that,” Henry said. It seemed the old man couldn’t help himself. “Although I don’t remember seeing any royal soldiers around here.”
“We’re here now,” one of those with the tax inspector said. He was thinner than his more muscular colleagues. Too thin, so that it seemed like his armor hung loose on him. Faded scars crisscrossed those parts of his skin that were exposed. “And you need to pay.”
Henry spread his hands. “And how much do you claim I owe?”
“The king is generous,” the tax inspector said, “and has set the tariff at just one tenth of all goods produced in this year. I take it you have records of what you have produced on this farm.”
Henry’s expression gave Jack the answer to that. Jack continued to press back tight to the wall, carefully out of sight. He didn’t want trouble here.
“Of course not,” Henry snapped back.
Jack guessed that most people wouldn’t. It was an obvious trap. Perhaps a few wealthy landowners would know what was required of them and would keep meticulous records. For the majority, though, their lack of records would mean that the tax officers could simply come in and take what they wanted. Even so, Jack didn’t want trouble. The last thing he needed was to risk being recognized, and the scabbarded sword in his left hand made his past all too easy to see. If they saw him, it would be bad for him, for Henry, and for Dahlia. Jack turned to make sure that Dahlia was staying back as well, but it was too late. She was already pushing past him.
“Just what do you think you’re doing?” Dahlia demanded as she got closer.
“We’re collecting the legally required tax on this farm,” the tax inspector explained. “I should warn you that any attempt to delay us in our duties is a crime against his majesty the king himself.”
“I don’t care about the king,” Dahlia said, pointing at where the tax officers had tethered the farm’s horse. “You have no right to come in and take what’s ours.”
“Oh, we have all the right we need,” the slender soldier said, stepping up beside the tax inspector. “We’re the ones with the swords.”
Jack could almost see the thoughts running across Dahlia’s face. She was wondering how quickly she could get to her crossbow. Jack knew the answer to that as surely as she must. Not quickly enough. Even if she could, she would get one shot, and then the others would be on her.
“You’re no better than thieves,” Dahlia said.
“Careful, woman,” the tax inspector snapped back. “Talk like that borders on treason. Denying the right of the royal tax collectors to collect what is due amounts to denying the rights of our glorious king.”
Glorious. Jack’s memory flashed on a young man of barely twenty, left with a country to rule through his father’s sudden death. The boy dressed like a fop, seemed more interested in the toys and courtiers he could collect around himself than in ruling wisely, and smiled far too emptily. As before, his memory refused to give Jack any more information than that.
In the time it had taken for his mind to sort through the images, things had already taken a turn for the worse. The too-thin soldier had reached out, grabbing Dahlia by the arm and was now trying to pull her closer to him.
“Let’s stop playing games. We’re taking the horse. We’re taking whatever else we want. You’re going to give us what we want. Or we’ll burn this place to the ground with you inside it.”
Instinct told Jack that he should still keep out of the way. That Henry would find a way to resolve this. That it could still work out peacefully. Then Dahlia scratched the soldier’s hand, pulling away from him sharply.
The soldier raised a hand to hit her. “You little-”
Jack was there between her and the soldier before he realized he was doing it. He shoved the other man back, sending him sprawling more through surprise than anything.
“Well,” the soldier said. “What have we here?”
The other soldiers seemed just as curious about Jack’s sudden arrival. They stared at him as though wondering where he had come from. Or maybe more than that. One, with a straggly beard, stared at Jack more intently.
The slender soldier was the main problem for now though.
“Gentlemen, you should go,” Jack said. The main thing that surprised him was how calm he felt. A second ago, terror had been washing through him, keeping him in his hiding place. Yet now that violence seemed inevitable, everything with him felt clear. Obvious.
The soldier surged to his feet. He swung a punch at Jack, and at that distance it was an easy thing to sway inside it, using the still scabbarded sword in his left hand to smash into the man’s arm. His right hand came up, the palm of his hand smacking into the other man’s jaw while his foot hooked behind the soldier’s ankle to send him tumbling to the dirt.
“Striking