The importance of Political Economy is represented by the social impact it has. Before the birth of Parliament and the Empire, humanity had a confused notion of economy. That was the dark era of wars, of land reclaimed with blood and use, of insecure trade, and much more.
The witches, having taken power, had to reform this system. Not only to guarantee stability to the Empire but also to clarify and calm internal disputes. Thus is born the society by estates, in which the treasury wealth is administered as follows.
Each inhabitant pays only one lira per year in taxes, including witches. This number guarantees the state treasury to obtain 1,000,000,000 lire per year. This capital, whose margin of error must never exceed 5%—except due to natural disasters, is called the ‘Base of Prosperity.’ For this reason, the population must always be around one billion inhabitants.
The Basis of Prosperity is distributed in two phases to the various estates. Many witches would not need such distribution, but it is a tool to maintain the balance of power stable.
The first phase of capital redistribution is the following and concerns an amount of 500,000,000 Lire.
1. The First Estate, including the witches ranked from 1 to 20,000, is entitled to 400,000,000 Lire divided equally. Each Witch of this estate—witches admitted to parliament—obtains—per year— 20,000 Lire.
2. The Second Estate, comprising the witches ranked from 20,001 to 36,000, are entitled to 80,000,000 Lire divided equally. Each Witch of this estate—witches admitted to parliament—obtains—per year—5,000 Lire.
3. The Third Estate, comprising the witches ranked from 36,001 to 48,800, are entitled to 16,000,000 Lire divided equally. Each Witch of this estate—witches admitted to parliament—obtains—per year—1,000 Lire.
The Fourth and the Fifth Estate, including the witches from 48,801 to 100,000, will obtain—if possible—156 Lire and 25 Cent each.
The second phase of redistribution concerns the rest of the annual Prosperity Base. For convenience, we consider this value to be 500,000,000. But it is good to remember that this is approximately due to the 5% variability granted annually.
1. The First Estate, which is hereditary, is entitled to 400,000,000 Lire, divided as follows:
1. The First Witch of the Empire is entitled to 320,000,000 Lire.
2. The Second Witch of the Empire is entitled to 64,000,000 Lire.
3. The Tirth Witch of the Empire is entitled to 12,800,000 Lire.
4. The Fourth Witch of the Empire is Entitled to 2,760,000 Lire.
5. And so on until the last one. The 20,000th Witch of the Empire will receive nothing.
2. The Second Estate, also hereditary, is entitled to 80,000,000 Lire, divided as follows:
1. Witch no. 20,001 is entitled to 64,000,000 Lire.
2. Witch no. 20,002 is entitled to 12,800,000 Lire.
3. Witch no. 20,003 is entitled to 2,560,000 Lire.
4. And so on until the last one. Witch no. 36,000 will receive nothing.
3. The non-hereditary Third Estate is entitled to 16,000,000—
----------------------------------------
Delphine looks up from her book. She understands the message and feels like she is back in university classrooms. Tax law has never been her favorite subject. That is one of the three appendices the author put at the end instead of inserting them into the normal flow of the story.
Sure, infodumps, very boring economic statistics. Unfortunately, Delphine does not know them. While reading in the park, she avoided walls of text, trying to focus on dialogue or scenes where something interesting happens.
But now it is different. Fortunately, there are these appendices useful to avoid asking things that people expect the Third Witch to know.
Delphine sighs and sinks into the armchair, looking at the landscape out the window. There are fields, cornfields, small groves, mountains in the background, and pylons.
The Empire is electrified, partially. Light bulbs and telephones exist, but the trains are still coal-fired, and no computers are around.
“Your Holiness, if I may ask.”
Delphine does not turn around. She recognizes Grullo's voice.
“Feel free to ask.”
“Thank you. I will not distract you from your thoughts for long.”
“Grullo, make it short.”
“Yes, I, we gendarmes, were wondering about that book…”
Delphine lifts the novel.
“This one?”
“Yes. It is different from other books. It has a fully illustrated cover and seems to be of a different material.”
“You are right. It's a secret book. You cannot read it. No one but me needs to read it.”
“Sure, Your Holiness.”
Silence falls. Delphine returns to reflect on the economic matter. The image of the gendarmes giving 10 cents to the homeless woman. The fact that everyone has to pay 1 Lira in taxes every year.
“Grullo, tell me, how much is a Lira worth?”
Delphine turns. The gendarme adjusts the white bow holding her tail.
“Your Holiness, perhaps I did not understand well. A Lira is worth a Lira. It is worth little.”
“Quantify this little for me. I'm rich, aren't I?”
“The fifth richest Witch in terms of liquidity, the third richest when counting other forms of capital.”
“Precisely. Quantify the value of a miserable Lira for me.”
The gendarme is in difficulty. He adjusts his collar. He looks at his subordinates, who remain impassive in their duty.
“Holiness, without being impudent, is little for me. It is not even a minute of my services.”
“For a person from the common people? I want to know how much a Lira is worth for a worker or a farmer. Think about it."
“Your Holiness, I have lived in the palace for a long time. I am afraid I cannot answer you.”
“I can, Your Holiness.”
This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.
A gendarme steps forward, bowing. Grullo glares at him, but Delphine signals him to come closer with her fan.
“Tell me. It's important to have yardsticks.”
The gendarme looks at his superior, who gives a sign of assent.
“A Lira is a lunch in a tavern or a glass of bad wine. My uncles were traveling merchants. They always had a bag of one lira coins for these tasks.”
Delphine nods. She earns 12,820,000 glasses of awful wine, or as many lunches, every year from the Base of Prosperity alone. The First Witch earns 320,020,000. There are a lot of lunches.
Who knows how many lunches the man she killed can afford every year? He looked well-dressed, but he was not noble. A merchant whose business has failed, perhaps.
A fear strikes Delphine.
What if it was infectious?
If this were the case, the situation could be dramatic. The role of the Witch of Infection is to control viral circulation. For the autarkic economy of the Empire to hold, that precise number of people is needed. Therefore, spreading the disease is her role. As well as it is her main power.
Delphine looks at the cover of the novel. We should be months away from losing control, spreading her power uncontrollably. That sentence can only be very average.
Yet she is restless. She did not think about it at the time.
Perhaps it was better to dispose of the corpse in a controlled manner.
However, neither the guards nor Grullo said anything. They fear it to the point of putting public health on the back burner, or they are confident that nothing serious has happened.
Delphine might ask. But the rotary phone handset starts ringing, distracting her. It is an ornamental telephone, wireless. It must necessarily be a work of magic.
Grullo picks up the phone without fear.
“Hello? I am Grullo, Commander of Your Holiness's personal Gendarmerie, Third Witch of the Empire, Viola-Eleonora Delphine. Ah… Your Holiness… of course. Of course, I will pass it on to you right now, with your Holiness's permission.”
Grullo hands the phone to Delphine. He looks solemn and has a puffy chest.
“Your Holiness the President, First Witch of the Empire, Lady of all the furnaces, requests an audience with the Third Witch.”
Delphine is surprised. It is too soon. The President is obviously in contact with her regarding the issue of the engagement of their respective children. But what if the Presidential Prince had changed his moves instead? There is no point in speculating. She should have invited it soon anyway.
She picks up the phone.
“Hi, Viola. Fun trick before. How much did you spend.” The tone on the other end of the receiver is jovial.
“President, I have no idea what you are talking about.”
“Come on, Viola. Don't be formal. It's just a call between friends. I'm talking about the magic from before. You torpedoed that scoundrel. After all, he called for secession, didn't he? How much did it cost? Currently, I spend 10,000 Lire to incinerate a commoner with my gaze. Are you saying I spend a lot?”
Delphine is stunned by that flood of words. The President quickly speaks, regardless of whether she is understood or not.
Ten thousand or less?
Suddenly, it occurs to Delphine because the economy is so fundamental and subject to regulation. The witches pay the demon with gold to practice their arts. The Lira of Ialtia is based on a gold standard. There is a lot of money. Sooner or later, it will run out, so witches invented stocks, magical credits, and much more to maintain control of the gold.
There are things similar to those that Delphine did when she mixed the results of the financial statements to obtain distorted versions, useful for the most disparate purposes. She was not a spotless person on earth. But she was a master of false accounts—in her way.
“So, then, you don't want to tell me?”
“I would have to ask the treasury. I guess 10,000 is a fair price.” Delphine responds, trying to sound sincere, but she has no clue. 10,000 Lire to instantly incinerate a person seems like a small price, ridiculous compared to the 320,020,000 Lire that the First Witch earns every year from the Base of Prosperity alone.
A laugh erupts from the receiver.
“Oh, Viola, you are always so serious. It was just a question, to chat.”
“How did you know?”
“I have my informants.”
“Fine.”
“Viola, shouldn't you tell me something?”
Delphine cannot see the First Witch. But she feels like the tone has changed.
“Are you talking about your son's visit? I admit that I was unwell and moved away, failing the label. If I have offended, I can make a fine.”
“No, no, of course. There's no point. It's not that stupid Prince I want to talk about.”
“I heard Witch Priscilla got screwed.”
“Yes, Viola. Listen,” pause. “I'm here with the Sixteenth Witch, remember Carola. Can I pass you by to say hello?”
“Obliged?”
Who the Sixteenth Witch is? Where she is mentioned in the novel.
“Hm. You're always so serious. However, Carola intercepted the signal of a spell worth more than 10,000,000,000 Lire. Absurd, right? I tell her she must have been wrong, but she is sure he came from your region. Are you sure you don't want to talk to us?”
Of course, I'm sure. I would risk betraying myself by talking to someone I don't know who knows me. Damn.
It certainly speaks of the spell that transported me here after the poisoning.
But who is this, how does she know these things?
“10,000,000,000 seems absurd to me, President. Which Witch has such capital?”
“Well, I guess. You and the Second Witch aren't doing too badly either. Then there is also that one, really, the first of the few, number twenty thousand and one. That always goes to her head. Maybe she created a network of banks. Who knows.”
“President, I believe that magic only works with golden available capital.”
Delphine would like to end the call, she is speaking from feeling, trusting her intuitions. But she has no idea what might be lurking. One hundred thousand witches are a lot, too many, and the book barely mentions about twenty of them, perhaps forty counting the names in passing.
President Furnace D. Chimera Coralla is the final antagonist. The Clea's archenemy. But it is all complicated when you think about it. She did not even finish the book.
A gap that I need to fill as soon as possible, however…
“President, sorry if I am abrupt.”
“Viola, stop with this ‘President,’ you make me feel like an authoritarian parent.”
“Sorry, I'm just a little tired. I would like to joke properly, but the 'truth' is that the engagement announcement between our kids makes me think a little.”
There is a moment of silence.
“Viola, four years to go. Now we announce it, they start the engagement, but it's years away. I know my son is an idiot, but you'll see. With the university, he will settle down.”
“Hmm, I think—I'll host a banquet to announce them.”
Noises from the other end of the phone, Coralla rejoices, and her voice reports the news to the—supposed—Sixteenth Witch.
“Yes, I like parties! I wanted to call out it. But since you are the future bride's mother it makes sense. How long since I went down east, how nostalgic. And then your palace, do you still have the labyrinth?”
“Yes.”
“Good, good, let me know.”
“I definitely will. Has your son returned?”
“No, he's still traveling. Not that I care. Do you know what matters to me?”
“What?”
“Let you investigate for that spell. If anyone with such financial resources outside the official circuit exists, I will disintegrate them immediately.”
With that last thrust, the line falls.
She puts down.
Delphine feels her back sweating. She still has the receiver in her hand when Grullo holds out his hand.
“Your Holiness, we have heard part of the communication. Do I need to organize security for a party?”
Delphine looks at him blankly. A party. Sure, one of those useless parties between nobles. Coralla was clear: she doesn't care about that. But she wants to know about the spell. How long will it take her to realize that she's not really Delphine? How much?
The novel has changed, at least as far as its narrative arc is concerned.
“Yes, a party. Grullo, get ready for a party.”