a fortune.”
“Oh,” said the woman. She briefly consulted in an undertone with the man beside her. “I’m afraid I don’t know that. I can’t remember the last time a house was sold in Tournel.”
Ha! Benji snorted. There was the sting, of course. A grossly inflated housing market that had bloated so much that nobody could afford to buy! Young families were probably sleeping in the street!
“Yes,” the man beside her agreed seriously. “Usually we just give people houses for free.”
Benji’s jaw dropped. He took the opportunity to put some more cheese inside it while his mind struggled to catch up to what the man had just said. “You give people houses for free?”
“Yes,” the man said, tentatively this time, as though he was afraid he’d said something wrong. “Normally when a couple sets up house, we actually...set up a house?”
“This wasn’t covered in my Houses and Humans handbooks,” Calarian murmured.
“Sorry,” the woman said. “Can we get back on topic for a moment? The stipends?”
Gunther cleared his throat and puffed his chest out. “Well, there are administrative issues with every transition of power, of course. I’m sure it’s just a clerical error. I shall look into it personally.”
“Make sure you do,” Lars said, raising an eyebrow.
“Certainly, Your Grace,” Gunther said smoothly, but Benji saw a sneer flit across his face, there and gone again in a flash.
Lars didn’t notice, his attention now on the younger woman at the end of the table who’d raised her hand. “We also have the issue of the fountain, Your Grace,” she said. “It’s not urgent of course, but I was thinking we could ask people to submit their own designs rather than just copy the old one, and–”
“Piffle!” Gunther said. “The old one was fine! Change for the sake of change is unnecessary.”
Lars hummed thoughtfully. “Are we replacing it though? Or are we paving over it so the trolls have a smooth path?”
“I thought you said the trolls were no longer a problem?” Gunther challenged. “And now you’re saying they’re still going to barrel through town, wreaking havoc and destruction?”
“The monster is gone, so the trolls won’t be scared anymore,” Lars said. “But they’re still our neighbours. If they would like to travel through Tournel to visit their mums, I don’t see why we shouldn’t accommodate them. We can build another fountain on the other side of the square.”
Cinnamon bun lady shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “It might have to wait,” she said quietly. “The construction of the road seems to have dented the treasury more than we expected.”
“Oh!” Lars blinked. “I didn’t realise our funds were running low.”
“Well I wouldn’t expect you to understand things like finance, being a cowboy,” Gunther said nastily.
“Cowherd,” Lars corrected him smoothly. “Well, Gunther, since you’re the town’s treasurer, I expect a full report on our financial situation by the end of the week.”
There was absolutely nothing in his demeanour to suggest his nervousness, other than the glance he flicked over in Benji’s direction.
Benji reached out under the table and squeezed his knee, and Lars’s mouth twitched gratefully.
“Well, of course,” Gunther said. “As you wish, Your Grace. But I think you’ll find everything in order.”
Benji didn’t believe him for a second. He took his bollock dagger out of his belt, grinned at Gunther, and stabbed the blade into a chunk of cheese. The force of the blow rattled everything on the table. The councillors gasped, and Gunther turned a shade paler than milk.
“You know what?” Benji said. “I think we’d like that report a lot sooner, if you don’t mind.”
Lars smiled. “What a good idea.”
“Of course,” Gunther said sourly, his mouth turning down at the corners.
“Excellent,” Benji said, and lifted the cheese to his mouth. “Good meeting, everyone. Excellent networking. Stakeholders. Unionise. Synergy. Good job.”
Benji decided that he’d had quite enough politics for the day. He pushed his chair back and stood. He strode towards the exit, flashing a grin back over his shoulder at Lars and Calarian, no doubt in his mind whatsoever that they’d be right behind him.
He had places to be, dicks to ride, and cheese to eat. He was a busy, busy elf.
He swaggered out of the room.
Chapter Eleven
Calarian enjoyed the next few days at Tournel more than he’d enjoyed even his time in Callier, and in Callier he’d been feted as a hero. And yes, he’d enjoyed the parade, and the coronation, and Quinn and Loth’s wedding. Calarian had always liked the trappings of successful quests as much as he’d enjoyed the quests themselves.