Greg raised an eyebrow at the papers Fiona handed him at the shop in the morning. “I’ve checked. We do this, you’ll be functionally broke, but free of his influence. Uh, I do have to ask...are we ready to render Barry potentially an invalid?"

“I’ve been waiting for this day for a long time, Greg!” she grinned wildly, while Bonnie was trying to hold her muzzle closed in an attempt to not laugh beside her. Greg’s response was to peer at the writ in front of him. His raised eyebrow and the way his voice halted, told her that he was on board. "Besides, my whole intent is to force his hand. There is zero chance he's so stubborn, he will allow this to play out in a way that ends for him badly."

Greg raised an eyebrow, silently questioning this logic. "If you say so..."

"Greg. Even as much as I despise him for what he did? Letting him be turned into a vegetable on account of his own stupidity or arrogance won't even well for anyone. Fiefdala needs a king, and I'm pretty sure I'll get stuck with the blame for his short-sightedness," she assured him. She wanted to scream in fury at this idiot king playing games with lives, out of desperation or foolishness, but this pettiness had been earned for a few moments of pure awesomness. “Now, regarding my plan, we can do this, right?”

“Well…yes…technically we can do this…It is an accepted currency. Fiona, do you realize how much of a chore this will be for them to sort out?” he asked, mouth agape. “Do you know how many coins that is?”

Doug hadn’t stopped laughing as soon as she filled them in on the plan, and that tiny kobold could laugh pretty loud when he wanted. “I might be inspired to try this someday. It’s so evil.”

“Hey, it’s a ‘them’ problem, not an ‘us’ problem guys. We need to make sure we pay the bill on time, and that there was a severe lack of gold currency available at the exchanges, and the arcane relay system broke down, and…you get the idea.” She loved to rationalize this, and how they would have no recourse.

“Fiona, if you do this, that blonde patsy might blow an arcane conduit,” Bonnie pointed out.

“Barry can suck on my left–wait… never mind,” she grunted as she realized how awkward that could sound. Darla twirled her tail gently around her finger, looking amused.

“Oh, is there something else I need to know about elves?” she asked as she licked her lips.

“Oooh no, Darla. I don't know what goes on in the dark down under, but trust me, this used to be an insult, back where I came from,” Fiona responded with a flush of heat across her face. “So, anyway, we’re doing this.”

“How on Cepalune…do we even have this many in circulation?” Greg asked and examined the paper, practically pressing his nose at her tiny handwriting. She put her hands in the air, without an answer.

“Lockheed, it might surprise you, but yes, there are that many,” Doug answered, while Fiona clapped her hands together.

“Welcome to the world of malicious compliance, boys! This is where we get to have fun,” she cackled evilly.

“This sounds about on par for a Fiersday,” Greg sighed. “Well, guess we’ll go at lunchtime to make it happen. Bonnie, mind holding the fort along with Darla and Kali?”

“We need another person running the register, we’re stretched a bit thin,” Kali commented while keeping an eye on the monitor at his station, and not even swiveling to look at them. He put one feathery finger in the air. “By the way, if you’re curious, this is a brilliantly evil idea, Fiona.”

“Hey, I never said I was a saint. Evil? Eh, that’s for lawyers.”

----------------------------------------

Fiona walked into the tax office at lunch time, where a clerk who was bored out of his mind was at his desk. The man was busy doodling something on his arcanist pad. Greg accompanied her like a second shadow, and Douglas stood there regal and composed, his wings fluttering behind him.

She knocked on the glass window, disturbing the balding man with a lean body and looking like he needed a good wake-up call. “Hi! I’m here to pay my taxes!” she declared through the glass and a small window with a metal mesh. It looked strangely enough like a bank teller from Earth.

Out-of-date styles were universal, it seemed. She noted the glass seemed to carry several wards against spells, fire, projectiles…and inappropriate graffiti, if Bonnie’s lessons on runes were helping spur her memory. “We have the first–and last installment for last name, Swiftheart, first name, Fiona. The uh, hero of Fiefdala,” she added with a curtsy. The man looked at her, shocked, and nearly dropped his coffee mug.

“Good Lunas! You’re the hero? I thought I saw you at the palace regularly when I do work meetings!” he gasped and hastily cleared his desk. “Well, um, yes. Let me check the file. I can’t believe they would tax you, of all people. I heard about this, and I was mighty displeased that they would treat you like this!”

“Any chance of a windfall tax break?” she asked as she leaned toward the window, pursing her lips. He glanced up from his file folders and frowned.

“Sadly, Miss Swiftheart, no.”

“We have paperwork to file, too,” Greg added and handed a stack of angry, red-marked formed letters. Several of them, and she had triple-checked them. “We have some grievances and some concerns about valuations. We are currently paying off the owed tax threshold, and her audit has been unnecessarily delayed. We are…erring on the side of caution and expecting compensation after the paperwork is sorted.”

The clerk looked at the papers, looking more and more wide-eyed. “This is…how did…why did they…” his words became more incoherent, talking mostly to himself to process just what he was reading. “Did the kingdom commit fraud against you?!”

“Well, seems like someone did,” she replied slyly, eyes awash with amusement.

“They overvalued the items by…how much?!” he was flipping through pages and pages, each telling a more and more dire story than the last. “I–I must confess, I would need to properly assess this, but–”

“That’s okay. We can wait for the delivery,” she grinned. Douglas stood there, biting his snout in an attempt to not laugh. “We found an expert who assessed the goods independently. He’s also licensed for it!”

“Quite honestly, this level of miscalculation is fraudulent,” Doug said, with almost a growl to his words. Fiona could also hear the arrival coming up the street, and glanced out the window.

Right on time.

The clerk was already tapping a relay. “Yeah, hello? I’m in over my head. I have Miss Swiftheart–no, you heard me right. The Hero of Fiefdala here. I need someone down here, right now. No, you daft idiot, she’s not at the store, she’s here, dealing with…yes, I see…” he trailed off, then rolled his eyes. “You’re also an idiot.” He walked to the far end of the room, likely still chewing out someone.

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“How long do you think it takes before Barry gets wind of this?” Greg asked, arms folded and looking casual.

Doug shrugged his wings. “Knowing that twerp? Half an hour, tops.”

The clerk returned after a moment, and tried to give them a runaround explanation that likely were words he didn't want to utter. His entire display of vitriol was directed at his likely boss.

Then she heard it. The sound of sweet revenge.

“As I said, Miss Swiftheart, I’ll need to examine these documents…” he trailed off as the rumbling and hissing sound outside grew louder. “What’s that sound I hear?”

The sound in question, was her big brain move to humiliate Barry further, and she smiled politely. “It’s my payment. See, the problem is, the banks have trouble agreeing that they can actually give that amount of money back to me, so I had to take a chunk of gold out after telling them yet again they can’t forcibly keep me from my money. Now, they tried to stall, and they only had certain currencies, and…well, you know, I had to make certain arrangements.”

That steam whistle in the background, and the sound of a low warbling beep was getting louder, and the clerk peered out the window. His eyes went wider than Kali’s every time she mentioned getting poultry sandwiches for lunch at work. “Um…what is that?”

“Oh, that? It’s a steam automaton. Top of the line, big hauler! I had to rent it for the day. Oh, what’s your name by the way?” she asked, looking for a nametag or lanyard, but failing to find any.

“Robertson. My uh, my friends call me Bob,” he said while looking aghast at the monstrous machine pulling up to the little office. “Um, you know we have arcane relays to transfer gold."

“Oh, it’s not in gold. Remember how I told you there was a teeny, tiny little problem?” she asked as she showed a small gap between her thumb and forefinger. He looked at her blankly.

“Tell me it’s not what I think it is.” She nodded proudly at him putting two and two together.

“Buddy, this is not aimed at you, let me assure you of that. anything bad that happens to you, is squarely on me, and if this place doesn't pan out for you, there's a generous position at my shop that might magically open up. You might want to give your boss a call, he’s gonna be busy,” she added with a slight cooing sound.

Even steadfast Greg kept clearing his throat and a small chuckle emerged from his lips. “Bob, you really should give him a call. And tell him to bring a wheelbarrow. Oh and shovels, too.”

Five minutes later, Bob’s boss was there, looking on in dismay as that steam automaton dumped its payload of cargo. An entire cascade of copper coins–the most Fiona had ever seen in one place–started to emerge. It was a deluge of metallic discs clanging and clinking to the ground.

It was the most satisfying sound she’d ever heard in her life as she rubbed her hands together. “You understand, of course, that this was the easiest way I could get the payment to you guys on short notice. Who knew this kind of thing could happen?”

A shorter, meaner, surlier-looking dwarven man with a bushy black beard glared at the driver of the automaton. The driver was using a broom to get the last few coppers out of the back of the cargo bay, and leaned toward Fiona, motioning to her “Oh, I also need to get a receipt. Can you sign here, saying we delivered on time?”

“Sure thing! Thank you, Dylan, I appreciate it! Five-star delivery for a rating, you guys did great!” She squealed as she flourished the pen to sign her initials. The man bowed softly before taking off, with a few stray coppers falling off the back of the truck, making distant clinking sounds.

The dwarf had stood there in silence for a few minutes, in disbelief. “Miss Swiftheart. What in the hell is this?” he finally asked, folding his arms and looking nonplussed.

“My payment. One hundred and thirty-three thousand, three hundred and thirty-SEVEN gold equivalent,” she finished with a leering smile. “Payable to the crown’s treasury. You can count it if you like.”

“This is…” he stared at the massive pile of coins, then the wheelbarrow, then to Bob, who was still looking like a deer in the headlights. The dwarf looked pissed. “That is not payment. That’s a hazard and a giant pain in my ass, is what that is!” he fumed, and looked like he wanted to swing the shovel into the air. Which, for him, would have been a really bad idea.

“Oh, where’s the love? I even rounded up!” she said sweetly, and he gripped his beard with both hands and gave a mighty tug. That must have been painful, because, despite his fervor, he winced at the maneuver. “Look, this is the accepted currency of Fiefdala, is it not?”

“There is no way this is–”

“Halsin. It’s legit,” Bob whispered and showed him something on his arcanist pad. The dwarf grabbed the pad, and put it so close to his nose it almost brushed against the surface, and his eyes flickered back and forth. He narrowed his eyes as he read the last line, and glanced at Fiona, who was doing her best to keep a straight face.

This was too priceless to not be elated about. The dwarf set the pad down back into his coworker's hands, and then pulled out his arcane relay. “Get me Greybeard’s palace contact. No, not the Greybeard, the beardless one–you know who I mean, dimwit!” he snapped into the relay and then clicked it close before stuffing it back into his pocket. He leered at her for a good several seconds, arms crossed, before a small smirk emerged across his lips and leathery face. “You uh…put too much effort into this to not know you could get away with this, didn’t you?” he asked a few seconds later.

“I did my homework. But it was her idea,” Greg shrugged and looked unapologetic. Halsin broke out into a boisterous laugh, and slapped one stubby knee with his massive hand mitts.

“Hahaha! Gods, I can’t wait to see His Highness's face when he comes down to see what the fuss is about!” he roared delightfully. “Never have I ever heard of this kind of feat being pulled off, but you must be determined to piss him off!”

“What, us? Nah, I’m just paying my tax bill,” Fiona shrugged while trying to sound innocent. “Through a series of unusual circumstances.”

“Unusual, my hairy ass!” he laughed heartily. Bob was still looking apprehensive. His boss laughing like this must be a rare event. “Lass, you know something, even though this is going to be a mess to clean up and count, the look on that smug prick’s face is going to be worth it!”

“Halsin, he’s–”

“The regent king, yeah, I get it. Rikkard will return from holiday soon enough, and will see his son is mucking things up. Even better that you’re doing it to the place he used to work in,” Halsin beamed and offered a firm handshake to Fiona, Greg, and even one to Doug. “Now in the official dialect, thank you for making your agreed-upon payment, on time. We appreciate your candor and honesty through these troubled times,” he added, even as he grinned.

“Speaking of which, look who's leering at us from the street,” Greg pointed out. The royal automaton machine could be seen in the distance, and Fiona could see with her elven eyes that pasty face and bad haircut of Barry the Beardless.

“Ten gold says he blows a blood vessel,” Doug wagered.

“I’ll take that action and make it twenty,” Greg replied with a smirk as the two shook hands beside her.

Barry was beyond pissed. That wild-eyed look and malicious sneer on his face, told her he was one nudge away from stark raving mad.