The Fisherman's Tale (On Hiatus)

Chapter 9: The Heirloom

Chapter 9:

The following morning, there was a knock at the door. Chuck had been in the secret bedroom for most of the night; Renee and Ozmo hadn't dared to call him up since the ogres visited in fear that they were constantly being watched now. Though, the chances of them being watched were indeed tremendously high. Even so, Chuck had insisted that he should come upstairs but stay quiet and largely out of sight; just so that if he had to get away he could.

The knock was repeated: five times evenly.

"Go into the bedroom, Chuck," Ozmo ordered him. "If you here any form of hint to run, go through the doorway behind the bed, and be quick about it."

Chuck could tell by the tone of Ozmo's voice that he was fearing the worst, and Chuck was beginning to wish that he had never left the secret bedroom in the first place. In fact, he was regretting ever setting sail in the first place. Dark circles were becoming quite prominent under his eyes, and his dark blonde hair was sticking up in every direction.

"Got it," he replied, and rushed out of the room, gently closing the door behind him. Instead of going into the bedroom though, he stayed by the door and listened silently.

The door clicked open, and Ozmo's face fell.

"Good day, Mr Smoglith," one of the three trolls said in a fake merry voice. "Today's the day that everyone loves!"

"Indeed, Mr Smoglith," another spoke. "Today is a day of giving!"

The third troll remained quiet, his clipboard held tightly in his hand and his face filled with scorn.

"Who is it, Ozmo?" Renee asked nervously.

"Tax collectors, dear," Ozmo replied flatly. His mouth was turning downwards at the sides, and he was waiting for them to announce how much they'd have to pay.

"The dictator is very disappointed in your income rate, and also has been informed of how his ogre army was disrespectfully treated when they made a polite inquiry yesterday evening," the second troll spoke.

"Polite, they say, polite," Renee laughed sarcastically, drying the dish that she had just finished washing. "If they call that polite, then I say that gloves are in fact socks." She was too tired to think of a better comparison, but she was becoming quite irritated by the tax collectors already.

"How much do we owe?" Ozmo asked tentatively, hoping that they'd have enough. They only had 40G, but Lamia was notorious for calculating how much a family had and purposely making it unaffordable.

"Mr and Mrs Smoglith, today you will be paying a total of 1400G," the third troll finally spoke.

Ozmo flinched as he heard the amount. He knew that it was most definitely going to be over the amount that they had, but this time the amount was enough to make him want to faint. He winced as he thought about how much they needed to pay, and was thinking through in his head if he still had any savings left over in the places that they hid extra money for times like these so that they could just scrape by without having to go to jail, or receive the death penalty.

"When does it have to be paid?" Renee asked on Ozmo's behalf.

"Today, Mrs Smoglith," the third troll spoke in a mocking tone, as if the answer to her question was the most obvious thing in the world.

"What if we can't afford it?" Renee inquired.

"Then I'm afraid that we'd have to take you to the dictator's castle and have him speak with you as to what your punishment would be."

"We'd be able to pay 35G," Renee began. She didn't want to give them all of their money because otherwise they wouldn't be able to eat at all for the rest of the month. 5G was enough to scrap by and have a little something to eat every other day or every three days. They could always bargain with someone or try and catch some fish in the meantime. They'd manage, they always had.