This week's tale is one of murder and sinister occurrences in the bustling city of Freelance. Written by David McElroy, the Tax Collector will be the first of many tales set in and around the Known World to be hosted here. Don't forget to check out Unfinished Tales for more great writing, If you've got some literature you would like posted, email me at Inches_72@yahoo.com or Inches_72@hotmail.com

The Tax Collector


Percival strode full of arrogance down the path. He was on his monthly tax collection run that saw him walk though one of the slum areas that were found all throughout Freelance. He couldn’t see why the little money that was reaped from these areas was really worth his time and effort. The poor people had very little possessions and most didn’t even have jobs. He was glad that he wasn’t one of them. The thought of becoming one of these wretched being really made his stomach turn. The worst were covered in blisters and weeping boils. He thought that simply touching one of them could kill a man in an instant. Either way they had taxes to pay and he was the man to collect them.
He came to the first door of his route and knocked. Peeling paint slid from it and a decrepit old lady in a worn dress and a shawl opened the door.
“What do you want? I’ve told you people that my son had nothing to do with the murder. It was the damn rat people I tell you. Now go away and leave me alone” She slammed the door in Percival’s face. That would have normally stunned someone, but not Percival. He had much worse replies to his knocks before. He knocked again and he heard a groan from inside and the door opened again,
“Look, I’ve told you…”
“I’m not interested in who your son did or did not kill, I want the taxes,” Percival cut her off.
“Show me some identification. Been tricked by posers before and not again.”
He showed her and she sighed, “Tis time again already? I don’t have any money.”
Percival pulled out a large clipboard and looked down the page,
“Name?”
The old lady looked down at her feet, her toes poking out of her slippers, “Reidy.”
“Hmmm, you didn’t pay last term either. If you do have no money I’m afraid that you have committed a criminal offence and as such you shall have to be taken in. You have until tomorrow to find the funds or a city guardsman will be here to take you to the goal.”
The old woman looked to be on the verge of tears,
“You can’t. Have you no respect for the old? Can you see I wouldn’t last one moment in there?”
“Maybe you should’ve thought about that before you squandered all your money,” he said without any show of emotion as he jotted down her name.
“I never had any money!”
“Good day ma’am. Hope you son is found not guilty. You will be!” he said with a chuckle and started off again down the street. His strides large he whistled cheerfully as he moved onwards. As he passed a large pile of rubbish and other waste he noticed a beggar coming towards him.
“Please sir, Can you help out a man down in his luck?” the beggar asked.
Percival raised his nose and spoke disdainfully, “Back off filth! My money is too good for the likes of you.”
“But sir, my stomach is empty and my lips are dry and parched, certainly you could space even a few pieces of copper?” the beggar tried again putting his hand on Percival’s forearm.
“I said stay away,” Percival growled and kicked out his foot hitting the beggar in the side.
The beggar fell down wheezing and clutching his side. Percival spat on his and gave him the parting word of, “vermin.”
Percival dusted himself off and furrowed his brow,
“Damn, parasite could’ve given me anything.” He continued down the street until he came across a small shanty that had been shoddily constructed in a small alcove to the side.
“Don’t these people have any idea of right and wrong?” he asked himself and he went over to the shanty and bashed on the side. It shook violently and threatened to collapse. From within the shanty appeared a bent over figure leaning heavily on a cane. His features were hidden behind a black cloak and he said in a rasping, hissing tone,
“What? What? What do you want?”
“I want to know what your reasons for this construction were? Don’t you know that it is illegal to squat anywhere you please?” Percival replied spitefully.
“Illegal? Come this is not illegal. Here I’ll show you I have a… permit. Yes a permit… inside.” The cloaked figure beckoned for Percival to come into the hut.
“Come now, you hardly expect me to believe that?” Percival jeered.
“You not believe me? I’m telling you it is here. Come.”
Percival eyed him suspiciously and entered. The figure turned and looked down both ways down the street his red eyes glittering briefly above his furry snout before following and sliding a heavy wooden door closed behind him.
The next day there was a knock upon the door of the old lady.
“I’m sorry,” she wept as she opened the door, “I don’t have the silver.”
“We are not interested in the silver Mrs. Reidy. We are looking for information concerning your son and where he was yesterday afternoon. I’m afraid a tax collector was found horribly mutilated not far from here this morning, and like I said we want to know if it was your boy,” a large city guardsman queried.
“Tax collector? I’ve told you people many times already, its not my boy it the rat people, but you never listen. When will you ever learn?”