Thunderlight

(Cont.) Uncle Theobald's Newest Overseer

It occurs to Mott, as soon as he reaches his uncle's estate, that he hasn't been to a rich person's estate in a long, long time. He forgot how big they are.

The estate sprawls across lush, green acres adorned in fountains, statues, and gardens. The building towers over him with pillars of gold, shining down on him as if it's trying to replicate the sun. It's almost palatial, this estate, and Mott wouldn't be surprised if he saw the king himself wandering around here. After walking up several flights of marble stairs to reach the glittering gates, Mott catches his breath and curses noble architects. Why are there so many stairs?!

This estate, in truth, is much smaller than his father's. Mott has lived in an estate double the size of this one for twenty years, yet somehow this mansion feels larger. Is it because he's gotten accustomed to a commoner's life? Or is it because this estate is so grandiose compared to the rest of the town?

New Crestmount City is not in disrepair like Bela's Moressley Town was, but there are certainly staggering levels of inequality. After wandering around the streets and watching tax collectors loot people's pockets, arriving at such a grand mansion provides a stark contrast. It's kind of... gross, for lack of a better word. It's gross how the lord over the city thrives on the backs of the people he's supposed to care for.

And it just so happens this lord is his uncle. So he either has the best shot at fixing things or he's about to make holidays awkward for himself for all of eternity.

When he reaches the gate, the gatekeeper arches a brow at him incredulously. Mott is aware that arriving at a noble's gate uninvited is pretty presumptuous, but he doesn't have the time to care. The tax collectors won't pause their looting for him to get an invitation, so he's not going to bother with decorum. As confidently as he can, he states, "My name is Montgomery Alcott. I've come to request an audience with Lord Theobald Alcott, my uncle."

His add on of 'my uncle' seems to change things in the gatekeeper's eyes, but not by much. After arching their brow the slightest bit higher, they open the gate and say, "Right this way."

Mott follows them along the sophisticated, orderly cobblestone path. Closer to the estate, he can see the statues in greater detail. They're all marble depictions of his uncle, presenting him as an esteemed, powerful dewott. He swallows a scoff, turning away from the statues. Those images are glorious and wildly inaccurate, making his uncle look like a hero. Mott knows the man looks more like a wiry weasel.

When they arrive at the doors, a giant version of the family crest glares him in the face. He swallows and averts his gaze.

The doors open slowly to reveal a majestic foyer adorned in elegant silvers and blues—the official Alcott family colors. Paintings of his uncle cover every wall, just as greatly exaggerated as the statues outside. It makes looking at the actual man quite a chore.

Uncle Theobald stands in the center of the room, pacing as he lectures a semicircle of tax collectors. His nose twitches like he's smelled something dreadful as he shrills, "Is this really all you could collect?" Gesturing out the window, he points furiously at dozens of carts overflowing with money. "Thousands of people live in my city, and this is what you return with?"

The tax collector shuffle shamefully, as if displeasing him is the worst thing they've ever done. Mott saw them sucking the townsfolk dry mere hours ago, and they had no shame then.

One of the collectors weakly explains that people are resistant to pay their dues, but Uncle Theobald interrupts them. "No, no, no; no excuses. I don't care if they're resistant, find a way around it. This is my city, and I want my dues. Dismissed!"