“I see that look. Smashing things is not the answer.”

Fiona let out a glare in response to her companion’s gentle advice, and it was totally the wrong thing she wanted to hear. Smashing slimes into alchemical gooey messes was more in line with the therapy of her mood. "I didn't smash things, Greg. Even I'm not that bold.”

They had made haste from the palace, partially at Greg’s insistence back into the uptown locale, where her apartment was. The cheeriness of fall trees tinged with all sorts of red and purple notes, quaint brick streets lined with people bustling about in the morning calm and a leaf pile being tended by a city worker, were distractions that didn’t break her mood.

She really wanted to jump into that leaf pile to revisit fun childhood memories. She let out an exhale and cooled her nerves.

“Thanks for having my back there. I made a bold move that might come back to haunt me, Greg,” Fiona commented. Wide lanes gave way to smaller pathways, where the buildings were a little closer, and small lawns dotted the front of the buildings. They were working their way down the paved stone street, back to her apartment at the nice end of the city. A few kids played with a small leather ball in the street, with a tiny elf, a bird girl, and a human boy all playing what she surmised was a game of soccer.

“It was the only winning move. You're better suited to fighting monsters, not people. And you would have regretted it,” Greg stated candidly. The sound of smooth stone meeting her armored boots was so loud–she couldn't wait to get back to her apartment and unwind. “I very much doubt he had his father's blessing before this maneuver.”

She walked around the playing children to give them a wide berth, and her mood melted a little when she heard the kids were shouting with enthusiasm. Greg hurried behind her, scribbling notes. “The nerve of that creep. I risk my life, I risk my reputation, I pass up on social events to slay monsters and give a giant kick to the heads of despots and oversized lizards! But I get stuck with the bill? And the guild likely is also getting stiffed. That part burns me even more.”

“The law is real. It is also a spite law to categorize dragon hoards as historical finds, subject to treasure tax. Which you have paid before, though your spending habits leave much to be desired,” Greg stated with annoyance. “From the intrigue I’ve heard of the palace, Barry is not inept. Just not well-loved,” Greg said, but he was chewing on his pen. Again. She sighed and threw her hands up in the air. “Look, Fiona, we’ll get through this. You’ve gotten through worse.”

“The tax man is the ultimate big bad! They never die, and they always collect! That makes them worse than dragons and demon kings! I haven’t fought a demon king, but I’m gonna, someday!” she said while stomping her feet. “Stupid Barry. I can't believe Greybeard never mentioned him, other than being seventh in line to the throne. I might have seen him a time or two, but he kept to himself.”

“Fifth in line,” Greg corrected.

“Fifth, seventh, whatever! That guy wants my money, and knows he can get far more for those items, if he gets to claim them all when I go jail,” she growled. “You know what? I’m calling him Raspberry from now on.” She let out a low raspberry with her tongue for emphasis. She heard a stifled chuckle from Greg beside her. “How’s he on the throne, anyway?”

“Lucy didn’t want the crown, she’s busy with foreign relations, Dave is a mage school dropout, and Mira wanted to be with her dad on vacation–she’s so adorable, by the way,” Greg added dreamily. “Edward is busy in the military. He’s got a job he loves, and hates monarchy. So, guess who that leaves?”

“So, this dweeb with the bad haircut is the current ruler? Call Greybeard, I got his number on my arcane caller speed dial. I'd call Lucy but, ya know, she's made it clear she hates dealing with the court intrigues. Whatever that means.”

She turned right, past her favorite coffee shop where a blue-skinned lady with horns and a toothy smile waved to her. Her hair was a light blue with streaks of brown, tied back in a light bun. She loved this cafe, with the dark varnish woodwork, cozy chairs, and the scents of caffeinated delights. “Hi Darla, how are you?” she sang out.

“Keeping busy, Fiona! How’s the adventuring life?” the barista sang out with that smoky voice of hers. Fiona was reminded that she had the voice of a speakeasy lounge singer.

“I beat a big bad dragon, and took his stuff!” she declared with a rising fist of triumph. “Too bad someone got jealous, now I gotta pay income tax on it!”

“Just go lay more dragons!” Darla said with a grin.

Fiona gave her a nervous smile. “I think you mean ‘slay’ more dragons, dear.”

“Oh no, I had it right the first time.” That sassy chick with lips to die for made a slight kissy face, and Fiona suddenly wondered if she'd been beating up too many potential dates. “Anyway, want a cup of coffee? I just finished a batch, with elfberry notes! It’s so smooth!”

“Fresh java, hell yes! I could use caffeine after a morning like this!” She grabbed her coin pouch, but Darla waved her hand. “C’mon honey, I pay like everyone else!”

“It’s on the house, on account of your victory! Greg, you want one?” she asked while waving a steaming hot mug of delightful morning fuel. Greg nodded politely, and took the cup before they all sat down at a table, with Darla occasionally attending to customers–using her whip-like tail. She had skills, that one.

With the impromptu stop, Fiona went over the details with Greg, and Darla listened in. she wrinkled her expression, and clicked her painted nails against the table. “Wow. That is some crock, Fiona. You sure know how to land in strange situations, don’t you?”

“Yep. Ever since I got here, life has been anything but mundane,” she sighed. “Look, Greg, the dragon screwed us. He had no gold, no liquid assets. Auctioning could take a long time. Why can’t I just go monster-slaying? It’s my profession! I made a ton of money.”

“That’s your class? Monster slayer?” he asked, wrinkling his brow.

“Career,” she corrected. “I suppose the title of ‘Beating monsters into the next fashion trend’ is a little long-winded.”

“But it’s your class,” he repeated.

“You keep using that word. Class, career, potato, po-tah-toh,” she added with a huff. He looked like he had something else to say, but put up a finger and fell silent. This wasn’t the first time she’d heard that brought up–it must be a cultural thing in Fiefdala. “Can’t I just do that, hunt monsters, find treasure, get money that way?”

“You took a big chunk out of the monster problem, Fiona,” Greg said with a few scribbles on his notepad. “You put other monster hunters–and yourself–out of work within the immediate kingdom limits. Now, the outskirts? Different story. But you’ll never possibly make enough coin, pay your living expenses, and pay off this debt. You need to somehow sell it, at enough cost to both afford your living, and pay off the taxes.”

Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

She tapped a gauntlet on the table impatiently. “Great. There goes my plan for selling monster parts to shady mages. Which still leaves selling the loot as the option of last resort.”

“Fiona, what you’ve done is a service! Now I don’t have to worry about slime monsters being all lewd, every time I go to the communal bathhouse,” Darla said with a flick of her tail, and a raised eyebrow.

“Okay, I’m not gonna go there, dear. Your life, your rules.” Fiona tapped the coffee mug rhythmically before taking a sip–it was delicious, not too hot, and those elfberry notes were just the right balance of sweet and tart. “You need to expand Darla, this is fantastic!”

“Eh, that plan is in the works. I kind of like having one cozy, profitable place.” Darla leaned back, while draping her tail on the back of her chair. “What about pawning the stuff off?”

“Can’t. The shops around here are all cutthroat, and the tax rate is…” Greg scoured through his notes, and frowned, “quite high. Most of them will not have sufficient cash on hand to make purchases at this volume. This would need to be moved by high-end nobles, merchants, collectors, and philanthropic millionaires.”

“Buddy, have I got a bridge to sell you, no one does stuff for free,” Fiona pointed out. “Even my last life was like that.”

“Wait. Were you summoned?” Greg asked. “You said something very peculiar at the palace.”

“No, Greg, I was hit by a truck. It’s like if you made a love child of a golem and a horse carriage,” she explained. “I woke up, buck naked in a cornfield, with these,” she added as she tapped her pointed ears, and allowed herself a contented smile. “And, sexy long legs. I was so short in my last life!”

“And the strength of a berserker,” Darla commented as she made a low whistling sound before grinning. “What a tasty import, you are. You never told me this!”

“How have you never mentioned this?” Greg asked, and she’d caught him by surprise for once.

“Look, Greg, going down memory lane isn’t fun for me. I thought no one would believe me if I told them I came from another world. So, I just did my best to blend in,” she shrugged. “Besides, my last life was boring, this one has been fun! Except for Barry,” she growled. “This blonde dweeb has made an enemy of me, and he’s a dum-dum if he thinks he can just stick this on me, without me fighting back! He is my dragon, and I will slay him in the field of finances!”

“Now, now, Fiona. Think first, fight later,” Greg said with a scrunched face bordering on panic. “You get fixated sometimes. Take a sip of coffee, think of your options. You do have a knack for business, and you do know people.”

“I know,” she groaned. “Just because I was good at business, doesn’t mean I loved it! It’s long hours, math, and boring stuff. Or worse, restocking, taking inventory, or late shift.” She smoothed her hair and adjusted it behind her long ears. "That said, everyone loved that store. The old grannies, the young artists, the families that used to make it...an event, to hang out there. Maybe I should give it another go at it. I mean it's my only choice. For now."

"Fondness makes the heart go yonder," Darla teased. The thought did resonate with her.

“Alright, it's settled. I'm gonna sell this stuff, and figure out a way to drop the tax to zero, to give a great big Fiona kissy face at Barry," she said with a flashy smile.

“Hang on. Have you run a business successfully, Fiona?” Greg inquired.

“Yeah, I did.” She didn't dare mention that she struggled with it. Endlessly. But she did make it work. “But, I'm gonna need help. I can't do this one on my own, Greg–”

“I'll help.” He didn't wait for her to finish her sentence, and she stared at him.

“Really?”

“I question your personal decisions and eccentricities at times, but…you are, generally speaking, fully competent at what you do. Adventuring is not for the weak-willed, or those lacking tactical awareness,” he conceded.

She gave him a hug that caused him to wheeze. Gregs were not supposed to make that kind of noise, he should go see a healer mage for that. “Thank you, you are the best!” she squealed in delight. He continued to make that wheezing sound, until she ended the enduring hugs.

“I may still live to regret this, but watching Barry do this to you, is infuriating. So I will help,” he responded, and adjusted his tie.

"Awesome, a team of two! Alright, to business then! Greg, I need to start planning. I also need to like, keep on living. How much do I have on hand?”

“Fifty-one thousand, one hundred gold.” He didn’t even look at his notes. “Your expenditures are about two thousand gold a month. Which is, even for this end of town, extravagant,” he added with a dreaded voice. “We’re going to have to fix that.”

“But, I made money! I looted every two-bit temple, grotto, monster den, or weirdly misguided cult in a hundred-kilometer radius! Ya know, that last one was pretty easy. I just told them the end of days was canceled,” she pushed back. “I was like Indra Janes! I got precious artifacts, put them in museums, and made bank!”

“Except, there are only so many misguided cultists, temples, and forgotten ruins in the world, Fiona,” Greg pointed out--ever the logistician, even if the truth hurt. “You need a steady, reliable income. And a budget cut.”

“I don’t spend a lot!” she protested. “A girl needs things! Like coffee! A girl’s night out with her besties! And snacks!”

“You ran up a bar tab before your departure last month to deal with the dragon lord, to the tune of three hundred gold,” he stated dryly, again with his notebook closed. She blinked, and tried to remember how it got so high.

“W-well, it was Jackie's first adventure success! And we were having fun, and I said, ‘First round on me!’ and then it was…oh.” She slumped and glanced at Greg, who had that stern look again. Like he was trying to mimic a fancy statue of some famous old dude. “Okay, fair. I might have to tighten the belt. I’m not cutting snacks, though.”

“You need to sell the apartment, and get something lower maintenance–”

“No! I love that apartment! Tucker would be so sad!” she countered forcefully. “I’m not giving it up, I’ll just have to budget for it. I'll have to try, anyway.”

“Progress,” he said with a quick jotting of notes. “Fiona, candidly speaking, do you think you can sell all this stuff, to raise the gold you need? This is a vast volume.”

“I could sell water to a water elemental,” she declared proudly, and thought to the storage vault filled with the dragon’s loot. “But, some of that stuff might take a while to move, no question about it. So, we’ll start with the small stuff. It's not beyond hope, the dragon lord did have some things that would be easy to sell.”

“Just be mindful to bank gold. We need to make sure we have a plan in case this audit doesn't go our way,” Greg cautioned before he jotted down some numbers. “Additionally, any business will have start-up costs and one-time fees.”

“Let's just hope this ballsy move of mine pays off,” she proposed as the coffee kicked in, and Darla leaned in attentively. “I know for a fact that Barry’s cheating, on account of knowing the tax law if he was a half-competent government shill. I just need to thumb my nose at him with tax write-offs! I kept receipts–I think.”

“I hope you have all of them?” He asked with a raised eyebrow.

Fiona remembered leaving the receipts for the recent purchases somewhere, she just couldn’t remember where. Her current armor was still cozy though. And practical; she definitely wasn’t selling it. “Yeah, I made a goof, I lost some receipts because I thought the dragon lord had a fifty-fifty shot at cooking me alive. But a lot of that stuff, I kept the papers with Bonnie! She’s the bestest mage, and they love their paperwork!” she beamed. She rose from her seat after finishing her coffee, and gave a hug to Darla–and got a hug from her tail, too. “Thanks for the drink sweetie. I’m not disappearing off the face of the world just yet!”

“Anytime, Fiona. Have fun!” she called out as the two departed up the street, with Fiona feeling a tad more upbeat.

People rubbing impossible goals in her face was just one thing she was used to, and something she managed to overcome, every single time. This Swiftheart was not going to be deterred so easily by some number cruncher in a cushy chair.

“Fiona, quick question for you. What happened, before you came to this world?” Greg asked. For the first time, she didn’t want to answer.

She gave him a sidelong look, and slumped. “Greg, let this one go for a bit. That life is gone.” It was telling that he fell silent, and his notebook quietly slid back into his pocket while his mood turned somber.

“I know a thing or two about what it’s like, to have stuff you don’t like to think about,” he said with a tone inflected with great thought to his words. “Well, let's get back to your apartment. I’m sure that furball of joy can help bring some spring back to your step.”