Into the thinking kingdoms - Alan Dean Foster [95]
“You there!” Pushing down on Rune’s stirrups, he stood up in the saddle. “Make sure to check thoroughly the attic and any basement, and the walls for hidden compartments! Miscreants such as these often conceal their valuables in such places.”
“Yes, Proctor!” came an acknowledging shout from the officer in charge. Sword drawn, he reentered the building. Household goods were already piling up on the front walkway as soldiers ferried them out from within.
Master and mistress of the handsome abode came stumbling out of the imposing entrance. Despite its size, no servants were in evidence. Their absence suggested that the owners took care of all the general maintenance themselves. That insinuated that they were dedicated workers. Bisgrath was gratified. Taking from the poor and the lazy was unprofitable.
“Please, sir, leave us something!” The master of the house looked older than his years, his face and posture reflecting an unpretentious life devoted to hard work. “All that we have has gone into our home!”
Rune stirred slightly and Bisgrath used the reins to steady his mount. “Ungrateful miscreant! Be glad I am leaving you the house. You know the penalty for failure to pay taxes in a timely and responsible manner. Fortunately for you, I am today in a generous and forgiving mood. Otherwise I would order your insignificant lodgings razed to the ground.”
The man stepped back, his gaze glazed by hurt. Stumbling blankly about, he could only turn to watch the emptying of his home. After a moment, he fell to his knees, still staring.
Bisgrath magnanimously allowed the woman to clutch at his left leg and continue to plead for clemency. Not because he had any intention of listening to her, or because that was a quality normally ascribed to him, but because he found her pleasant to look upon. After a while, though, her uncontrolled sobbing began to grate on his patience. Putting a booted foot against her chest, he shoved hard and sent her sprawling. Another time he might have stalked her with Rune, using the horse’s hooves as threats and making her crawl. But he was too busy directing the plundering of the household. Someone had to make certain that nothing was overlooked and that the spoils were properly loaded onto the waiting wagons. One for the kingdom, and the one with the heavy canvas covers for him. Astute as he was in matters fiscal, he knew better than to rely on official compensation to sustain his status.
For example, this particular family was not actually in arrears in matters of taxation. Only a simple subtle manipulation of certain texts had made it appear so. By choosing his untutored victims at random, he avoided the attention of his superiors, who were anywise gratified by his uncanny ability to root out the disobedient among the kingdom’s otherwise virtuous citizens.
Overlooked in the turmoil and confusion was a sandy-haired little girl of seven or eight years. While her parents entreated futilely with Proctor Bisgrath, she walked wide-eyed away from the house proper. Intent on their ransacking, the industrious soldiers ignored her. In the course of her aimless wandering, she found herself confronting an immense black face dominated by huge tawny eyes that seemed to glow from within. Lips parted to reveal canines longer than her hand. A tongue emerged to lick speculatively at her arm. It was rough and raspy as a file and she stepped away sharply.
“Ahlitah!” a man’s voice yelled sharply.
The tongue withdrew and the enormous cat looked back and growled irritably. “Just tasting.” With a shake of its magnificent mane it resumed its pacing.
The place where the tongue had licked her began to burn slightly. Ignoring the chaos behind her, instinctively shutting out the cries of her mother, she began to cry.
A man was