Village treasurer

In the dark of the night, a black carriage pulled to a stop at the end of the next village, and two silhouettes wearing cloaks came down from the carriage despite the rain, which was drizzling now, and began to walk down the village road in gingerly steps. Looking closely, one could see that one of them in a red cloak at the back was not as energetic as the other in dark menacing hood.

"Master, are you sure about this?" A thin and wavering male voice muttered, but he got no answer in return.

"Sire, this might be risky, and we do not have your father's or the council's permission," he muttered again, looking around the dark street, clearly afraid of the chilliness and quietness of the night.

The man under the cloak ignored him and kept walking.

"You can't possibly do this, sir!" The fear was evident in his voice.

"Oh, yes I can, Thomas!" His deep and cultured voice came out assured.

"But... but you can't go against your father and the council!"

He said, and the man stopped abruptly, leading Thomas to bang his head on his sturdy back, then fall on the wet ground, staining his clothes.

The man in the black cloak bent towards him on the ground, nearing his face. "The council are a bunch of cunning p*ssies. They would do nothing about this even if I told them. It's been years now, and finally having the information I need, I will take the laws into my own hands." He growled.

"But your... your father."

"Including my father, they are all in on it. Oh, dear Thomas," he leaned in closer to his face. "sometimes I wonder whose side you are on, mine or my overbearing father's, which is it?"

He swallowed and bent his head to the ground.

"Yours, master."

"Good!" He nodded and stood. "Don't be a chicken." Then he continued down the alley.

"Yet another adventure," Thomas muttered as he got up, dusting his wet clothes, then chased after him.

Reaching a particular pathway on the right side of the street, they followed it to the square where a towering building stood in the middle. Many inhabitants of the village had retired to the comforts of their homes, but a few were still lingering in the square. You might wonder what kind of people still lingered at this time of night.

Looking up at the building in the distance, a particular window was still illuminated by candlelight. The man's gaze traveled from the building to the people still dallying around.

"Peasants." he muttered almost annoyingly under the cloak but was audible enough for his servant to hear.

It was hard to recognize each other as everywhere was dark. He moved towards the building, stopping at the towering structure.

There were usually two guards present in front of the building, but now it was unoccupied. He stepped on the door and mounted the stairs gingerly, followed by his servant. Walking up the spiral stairs, which were illuminated by burning candles on the wall, he reached a particular door in the hallway. He twisted the doorknob and entered.

"Who dares to barge into my office without knocking?" a chubby and rough-looking man seated at the desk in the office, counting bags of coins, uttered. "Didn't I tell you fools to knock before you entered my office?" he asked again, not looking at whoever had entered. He was too engrossed with the coins. Since he got nothing but silence, he decided to look up from the money on the table.

"I'm talking... wait! Who are you?" he asked seeing the figure in the office.

"Did I interrupt your felonious affair?" His gravelly voice, for the first time, resounded in the room. He walked audaciously towards the man and stopped at the desk littered with papers and bags of coins. He slid his slender and fair fingers smoothly on top of the papers, moving to the coins.

"Who do you think you are to barge into my office and act like you own the place? Some rich brat?" he fumed, bewildered altogether by this person's behavior. This earned a melodious chuckle from him.

"A rich brat, huh? Maybe I am."

The man at the desk didn't look scared as he was sure and confident in his security and safety. He believed there were guards in and out of the building, so he remained unshaken.

"I will ask you, young man, to state what you want or leave my office."

"And if I don't?"

This enraged him. "Look who the hell are you?!"

"Thomas," the Man Under the cloak called, and the servant understanding what his master meant, closed and locked the door.

"What do you think you're doing?" The man asked, a bit scared now. Where were the guards, and how did these men get in the first place?

"Who the hell are you people and what do you want from me?" He stood up from the chair.

"I want the records."

"What records are you talking about?"

"You know what I mean." The man's face grew pale instantly knowing very well the severity of the situation and his voice trembled, "What business do you have with the records?"

"That's none of your business, Mr. Chubs."

On hearing the familiar nickname only a particular man called him, the treasurer's eyes widened.

"Sir... sir Ezekiel?" He stuttered.

"I'm guessing you have recognized the rich brat then."

He emphasized sarcastically, removing the cloak hood to reveal a handsome face with a sinister smirk, illuminated by the candlelight that was now faltering.

"I..... I had no idea it was you." He looked taken aback, staring at the man in front of him.

"Of course you didn't."

"I'm sorry, but... I can't provide you with the records." He caressed his beard anxiously as he swallowed.

"I'm not begging, Mr. Chubs."

The treasurer's thin brows narrowed at the nickname. The name pricked him each time, but there was nothing he could do, especially not to the intimidating man in front of him. That was the power of the noble and elite in society.

The man had been on his neck for the past years since he became a councilman. If he said it didn't prick him, then he would be lying. The smartness and wit of the Viscount, which was definitely beyond his years, had earned him a name both in the council and state affairs, among the elderly and reputable. He was smart and did his job efficiently even though he came from a wealthy family, and he had enough wealth to sustain himself and the many generations to come even if he didn't work.

The men in the council knew the order of things and followed it between them, but the man was just the renegade and did the opposite, taking the job a little too seriously, earning him more foes than friends among the ton. He wouldn't have hesitated this much to show him the records if they had not been tampered with, which had also resulted in ill luck in the village a few years back.

Of all times, he chose to appear now. He was dreadful of it.

"I know, but I can't show you the records, not now... at least."

"And why is that?" he asked with a sprinkling of amusement.

The treasurer thought himself smart. If none of the councilmen would do anything about the issue at hand, who was he not to take up the role? His lips moved slightly up into a charming smirk that was laced with cruelty.

The treasurer would never admit that he and some of the councilmen had an untold conclave with the project three years ago that resulted in a flood that destroyed many lives in the village. They squandered money for projects in the town and its villages, leaving the people in drastic conditions while they lived in luxurious mansions.

"Or..." he stepped towards him. "is there something you're hiding?"

"No... no, why would I be hiding anything?" He retreated.

"Then hand them over! Let me check myself."

"It is not right, neither is it ethical," he moved backwards again, hitting the wall as he made another step towards him.

He stopped for a moment and tilted his head to the side with another of his enigmatic smiles, which vanished as fast as it came.

"Look who is talking about ethics. If you had an atom of probity, we wouldn't be here in the first place, would we? Hm?"

"Guards! Guards!" he called, terrified, seeing the madness in the eyes of the man.

He erupted into a fit of laughter. "Keep calling them; maybe they will awake from their deep slumber."

"Wha...what have you done to them?"

He smiled. "I have sent them all on a vacation to dreamland, Mr. Chubs, but no worries, you can try; they might hear you."

"I....this is not right."

"I think we've had enough chitchat, don't you think, Thomas?" he asked his servant who was lurking in the shadow at the side of the room.

"I think it is enough, sir," he answered, clearly aware of what he wanted to hear.

Hearing this, his lips moved into another crazy smile as he stared at the trembling but stubborn man.

"This is not..." The treasurer tried to say, but he grew silent immediately when a pistol was pointed at the middle of his forehead.

"Still think I'm joking?"

"I...."

"Thomas!"

"Yes, master."

"Find -me - that - record book," he ordered, staring at the man in front of him.

Thomas drifted into action right away, searching through the bookshelves and drawers in the office.

"You're done for if he finds the book, you could have been nice enough, but you chose to do otherwise. Accolades to you, Mr. Chubs."

"I've found it, master." The valet said after a while of rummaging the treasurer's office.

"Hand it over."

Thomas readily placed the book in his hand as the other held the gun pointed at the trembling man.

He placed the book on the table and flipped it open, going through it. This was the financial record of the village. Finding what he intended, he looked up at the man leaning against the wall.

"Embezzlement, embezzlement! Does that ring a bell? You've been stealing from the villagers, Mr. Alan, care to explain?"

He handed the book back to his servant.

"I....."

"Answer me!"

"It was a mistake... and I promise it won't happen again."

"How vacuous you think I am, Mr. Alan, I warned you, didn't I? You've been stealing from the villagers for years now and you think no one would fish you and your accomplices out. I'm sure you think the council is stupid and ignorant." He crooked his head to the side.

"No....no. I beg of you, it won't reoccur again, just spare me." he mumbled.

He scoffed and smiled;

"Of course, I would make sure of that."