The Will of the Empress - By Tamora Pierce Page 0,76

and his father had made with her holdings. His father had done well, but he had spent as little as possible to maintain buildings and roads and to handle the payments for those who worked the land. He saved every copper in order to send quarterly payments to Sandry's mother and then to Sandry.

When the writing in the books changed to Ambros's tiny, spiked handwriting, she saw that he had made loans and collected interest, then used that money to invest in crop management and exports. He had used those profits to make improvements to the estates, increasing production and creating a wider variety of goods to send to market. The problem was the one that she had observed in Emelan, the increase of taxes on the estates.

Sandry was poring over tax records one sunny afternoon a week after their arrival when Tris came to ask her permission to take Gudruny's children and Zhegorz up into the watchtower. "The guards refuse to let us go without permission from you or Ambros or Ealaga," she said drily, leaning over Sandry's shoulder. "What are these?"

"Imperial taxes. You know, maybe the guards won't believe you," Sandry remarked, picking up her shoulder wrap. A tiny hope, that perhaps Tris would reopen their connection as Daja had, surged in her heart. Sandry immediately crushed it. Tris was too wary, and too preoccupied with Zhegorz. Her chances were better with Briar for now. "I should go along so they'll know you have my permission for certain. Where are Ambros and Ealaga, anyway?"

Tris did not reply. Instead, she frowned, running a finger down a column of numbers.

Sandry waited, then nudged the redhead. "Tris? I asked you something, sister dear. Tris?" When this didn't produce a response, Sandry poked Tris hard.

Tris scowled at her. "They aren't in the castle, all right?"

Sandry pointed at the book. "What's so interesting? Don't say Ambros is witching the sums, because I won't believe you."

Tris snorted. "And I'm the Queen of the Battle Islands. No, it's not Ambros. Don't you see? There are more entries as you get older — more taxes, and more of them coming directly from the throne. First you were taxed four times a year; then six; then there's a double tax in this year.... He's as mule-headed as you, your cousin."

Sandry blinked at Tris. "You should be a prophetess, you're so cryptic," she complained. "Just say what it is right out, Tris."

Tris rolled her eyes. "She was trying to drain his purse for some reason. Probably so he wouldn't be able to send you this exact sum each year, because that's the only amount that remains the same. He's been scrambling, cutting other spending, but that amount remains the same, even during the last three years when he's had to cut everything else to the bone. And here's this year. One levy of imperial taxes, when last year there were three already. I'll bet he never said a word to you, did he?"

He sent me the tax records, so I could see for myself, thought Sandry, ashamed. She knew why this year's record was so different. She had sent word north via mages that she was coming to Namorn in late spring.

"The instant she knew I was coming, she stopped taking so many taxes out of these lands," Sandry whispered. "Why didn't he say anything to me? I just assumed he was coping with it all."

"It was a point of pride for him." They turned. Ealaga stood in the doorway. "He felt that you would believe he had mismanaged things, if he could not make your payment. I begged him to let you know the people here were being forced to pay for your absence, but..." She shrugged. "He is yet another Landreg mule."

"Landreg House breeds very fine mules!" cried Sandry, her family pride stung.

"Yes," Ealaga replied drily, her gaze direct. "I believe it is because the breeders share a few traits in common with them."

Sandry heard a squeak that might have been a smothered laugh from Tris. She turned to glare at her sister, then remembered something she had seen in the books. She seized the volume that held the previous year's accounts and leafed through it hurriedly, this time noting many expenditures where lines had been drawn through to show they had not been made. She stopped at the one that had puzzled her. Through the line drawn over it she read the words "masonry/stones/tiles — Pofkim repairs." She carried the heavy book over to Ealaga