Some of my tenants hate me with a zeal that borders on fanaticism. Really, that's just the way it is.

I mean, it isn't because of anything specific I've done. If pressed, these particular tenants might not be able to explain their hatred, or pin down the precise reason for it. I'm no worse than some other Lords they might be paying tribute to after all, and Hades knows I'm better than some others I could mention. I protect their possessions, track down and replace things that are stolen from them, maintain the peace, and countless other thankless tasks, all of which tend to get overlooked whenever one of them decides to start a conversation about how greedy Lords are, or how we all profit on the backs of the poor, the hard working, and the downtrodden.

It used to bother me, but I've learned to deal with it. Really, none of it makes any difference in the end. I'm the one they hand their money over to, and so they hate me, and that's that.

However, regardless of how pragmatic you are about their feelings, filling an entire greeting hall with people who may or may not hate you can be a wee bit unsettling.

I'd decided to hold my meeting at the great hall at Tucat Court, the large, stylish building formerly known as Greybridge Keep. It was where Cyrus and most of my other staff lived, and where most of the business concerning my territory was handled.

The reason for holding the meeting there was obvious - if I'd have tried to do everything at Tucat Keep, it would have taken at least a half-dozen of these meetings just to get to everyone. My keep is more suited for small formal dinners than it was for large-scale meetings. Here at Tucat Court, I could address my several hundred tenants all at the same time, in the same room, and still only end up using about half of the massive great hall.

Of course, there was a down side to this plan, as I may have mentioned. Hundreds of shopkeepers and other tenants were now here, waiting for this meeting, and there was an animosity radiating from the greeting hall that was almost palpable. Even as I lay low in the kitchen, waiting for my guests to assemble, I could sense the collective mood clearly. Everyone who was at this meeting knew what day it was.

It was Pitch Day, the shopkeeper's holiday that occurred the day after Tenarreau's ceremony, when all of Harael got carved up into blocks of territory and assigned to Lords to govern for the year. It's kind of funny - nobody's ever come up with a single agreed-upon name for the Prince's yearly ceremony in all the years it's been going on, but the day following it has always been known as 'Pitch Day'.

My father had once told me a story about why they called it that, back when I was twelve. It was a short and unpleasant tale involving a Lord, an unhappy candlemaker, a burning lamp, and a bucket of pitch. Of course, when I recited that same story to my mother she'd practically exploded with laughter, and had promptly told me to march back into father's study and tell him not to fill my head with such foolishness, so I'm pretty sure he made the whole thing up. I doubt if anyone knows the real reason behind the name, but I've got my own theory.

You see, Pitch Day is the one day of the year that Lords can lawfully order any or all of their tenants to attend them. If a Lord is given more territory by the Prince, then naturally they acquire more tenants as a result. Pitch Day is supposed to be the day when Lords introduce themselves to their new tenants, tell them what sort of tribute they were expected to pay to their new Lord, announce tribute increases, and go over what sort of rights and protection they were being offered in return. In essence, it's a Lord's chance to 'pitch' themselves to their newest subjects.

I'm pretty sure that my version is about as accurate as the version my father told me, but whatever. It's called Pitch Day.

Most Lords, myself included, wait until a few days after Pitch Day before meeting new tenants one-on-one, mostly because large gatherings tend to be stressful for Lords and tenants alike. Generally speaking, on the rare occasion that these big, every-tenant-at-once meetings do take place, they don't end up going too well.

This would be my first one of these, and, despite the fact that it hadn't yet started, it wasn't going too well.

I didn't really expect it would be, despite the tasteful selection of fruits, wines, and sweetmeats I'd arranged to be present for my assorted merchants and tenants. A particularly nice wedge of cheese wasn't going to change anyone's opinion of me. Everyone was expecting the worst, and nobody wanted to be here right now.

Well, nobody except me, of course. Despite the barely concealed hostility that surrounded me, I'd been looking forward to this meeting all morning.

After judging that everyone had been waiting an appropriately long while, I decided it was time for me to leave the kitchen and make an appearance. I retrieved my cane from the table I'd leaned it against, walked down the corridor towards the great hall and stepped through a swath of blue fabric that had been draped over the doorway, entering the white-marbled hall as pretentiously as I could manage. Then, smiling at the sea of faces in attendance, I walked up to the shallow set of stairs leading to the stage - a two-foot tall raised platform that had been erected near the front of the room earlier that day.

The occasional thump of my cane against the floorboards was hardly audible amongst the angry muttering of hundreds of shopkeepers becoming aware of me. Their collective muttering got fractionally louder as I approached the center of the stage, and everyone in the room attempted to find a chair or bench to sit on. Once I was front and center I turned to face them, smile still fixed on my face, planting my cane on the floorboards to my right and leaning on it in a way I figured looked obnoxious. Then, I waited for the muttering to die down.

And I waited.

And waited . . .

Eventually, after about a minute, I realized I was going to need to do something to speed this meeting along. Sighing to myself, I began rapping the bottom of my cane sharply against the stage floor. It was loud enough to cut through the assorted chatter, and soon the hall was virtually silent, with everyone sitting in a chair and facing the stage, every eye focused on me.

It was then that I noticed that every single person in the front row had their arms crossed defensively as they waited for me to begin, having already made up their minds to be upset with whatever I was about to tell them. I looked out at the multitude of angry faces, and my smile got fractionally larger.

These are the sorts of moments I live for.

In this regard, Theo and I are utter opposites. These are precisely the sort of moments that turn his guts to water, and cause his breath to catch in his chest. He still does public speaking, of course, because his knights expect it, and because he's never been one to avoid something just because he wasn't comfortable with it. In point of fact, Theo practices his speeches in front of me all the time, and he's quite adept at delivering them. His only real problem is that he finds the act of giving speeches about as enjoyable as, say, a good solid kick to the face.

I, on the other hand, would do this sort of thing every day if I could. It'd been a miracle that I'd lasted this long to host my very first Pitch Day meeting, but I promised myself to hold off until the perfect opportunity came along. And this was that opportunity.

My smile got even bigger.

"Gentlemen, gentlewomen, friends, others . . . thank you all for coming. I apologize for having to call this meeting, of course, but something important happened recently, and I'm afraid I was unable to avoid it this year." I bowed my head slightly in a gesture of supplication and respect.

"What's with the walking stick?" a voice called out from the back.

Terribly rude, whoever it was, but I wasn't going to let anything ruin the tone I wanted to set.

"What, this?" I held up the walking stick in question and raised an eyebrow. "It's called a 'cane' I believe. I use it to help me walk. I had a large piece of razor-sharp steel shoved completely through my thigh last year, and as a result, my leg hurts. Crazy, I know. Please, there will be time for questions soon enough. Now, as I am aware that this meeting is cutting into your precious holiday time, I shall endeavor to make this as quick as possible. I assure you all that when it comes to matters of great import such as this, I am the very soul of brevity, practically the incarnation of pithiness. Why, I could go on for hours about my concise and succinct manner, the way that I capture the essence of what needs to be said, boiling it down and distilling it until . . . well, never mind. Let us simply say that I shall be brief and leave it at that."

Nobody was in the mood to chuckle at that, and a few brave souls muttered darkly under their breath. This was going to be perfect.

I increased the ferocity of my smile.

"Well then - to summarize, I find myself needing to make a minor change to the way things are currently being done, and I'm afraid this affects you all. Specifically," I said, taking a small, dramatic breath, "this minor change I'm referring to concerns your monthly tribute."

Groans erupted from every direction. Even those tenants who had gone almost ten years without a raise in their rent appeared indignant, and every face within view seemed to turn to its neighbor bearing an expression of 'I told you so'. The groans soon became mutters, and the mutters eventually turned into something louder.

I began thumping my cane against the floor once more, and in short order I had everyone's attention again. The silence came even quicker than the first time.

A nice, sturdy cane at your side is more useful than most people realize.

"Now, as most of you probably know, Cyrus Crowfoot, my Knight-Captain, has been managing the collection of tribute from you all these past several months, freeing me up so that I might focus on other things. In fact, I'm pleased to announce that I'm currently raising what I hope will be a prize-winning collection of hybrid marigolds in my new greenhouse this year. I've also recently become quite enamored with candle making, and have even been told that I'm getting pretty good at it . . .

"So, as you can imagine, I've come to rely on Cyrus for everything, as I do not wish anything to tear my focus from important matters such as these. Unfortunately, Cyrus informed me yesterday that he's decided to take a rather lengthy vacation, one involving weeks of travel to several exotic locales, and I don't know precisely when he'll be coming back. I attempted to go through his notes shortly after he left, and I must confess that his handwriting is rather atrocious. Thus I find myself in a bit of a pickle." I shifted in place, leaning on my cane and looking out amongst the crowd, my face serious. "I don't know how much tribute he was collecting from each of you. I don't know what to charge anybody. Obviously I can't simply ask you what you were paying, or put any sort of faith in your bookkeeping, as none of you strike me as particularly trustworthy. However, being one of the most clever minds in all of Harael, I have come up with a temporary solution to this dreadful problem, and would like to share it with you now."

Nobody so much as moved a muscle. I tried to make my smile even wider, but my cheeks told me such a thing was impossible.

"For the sake of expediency, simplicity, ease of calculation, and so that I might return to my beloved marigolds as soon as possible, I've decided that everyone operating on Tucat property will be charged the exact same amount of rent as every other tenant. This will be in effect until Cyrus returns, or at least until further notice. Furthermore, I've decided that your next month's rent is due now, today, instead of the end of the month. Both of these changes are effective immediately."

Two seconds of silence heralded the dawning comprehension of the words I'd just spoken, and a deafening roar of anger erupted from everywhere a moment later. Hundreds of voices all attempted to speak over each other, and most of the words I could make out were not pleasant. Some were not repeatable.

I raised my arms in a gesture that invited calm, which did nothing to quell the raised voices and angry shouting. After a minute or so I began thumping my cane against the stage once more. It was nearly three full minutes before the multitude of scowling faces before me fell silent, and I was able to speak again.

"As I'm sure many of you have them, I shall open the floor for questions. You," I said, pointing my cane at the nearest expression of outrage, "the fellow in the front with his shirt untucked. You have something to ask?"

"Are you bloody serious!?" the fellow shouted incredulously.

"Yes. I am, how you say, 'bloody serious'. Anyone else? Yes, you in the back . . . the dodgy-looking fellow with the handsome nose. Question?"

"You can't do this!" Big-nose bleated, sounding flustered. "We just paid last month's tribute! Notice is required! The precepts clearly state that you must give all tenants notice when changing the-"

"I'm convinced it won't be a problem," I interrupted airily. "Also, please be sure to raise your hand to indicate you have a question. Next question!" I pointed my cane to one side. "The unshaven man with the fabulous hat! Go ahead."

The unshaven man in question scowled as he stood, and raised his voice so that he might be heard over the rumbles of anger coming from his fellow shopkeepers, who were talking animatedly with one another.

"I'm an artisan! I've got a shop the size of a Baal-be-damned broom closet! And no inventory to speak of! Are you seriously telling me," he said, pausing just long enough for it to sound like I should have known who he was, "that I now have to pay the same rent as someone with a warehouse spanning half a city block?!"

"Yes, precisely. Very well summed up. Next question?"

"But," he sputtered, his face turning a bit pink, "but . . . this isn't fair!"

"My dear sir, technically, that wasn't a question," I sniffed. "Besides, this arrangement is not about what is fair . . . it's about what is easiest for me! I'll tell you what's not fair - my Knight-Captain drops everything to run go on vacation, and he simply leaves me to deal with you all! I mean, do any of you have any idea at all how troubling this whole thing is for me?" I scanned the crowd, and then pointed my cane at the shopkeeper in the back once again. "Yes, you in the back again - the armchair barrister."

"Some of us are barely making ends meet right now!" Big-nose shouted nasally, his voice becoming a theatrical bellow. "The precepts are very clear on this - you are only able to announce a change in rent, and you can only begin collecting it next spring, after allowing anyone who wishes it the opportunity to move! You can't simply adjust what you're charging and then collect it without-"

"Ordinarily, yes. In this case, not so much. And a reminder - questions only, please. Anyone else?"

There were several angry, waving hands being thrust into the air, and those shopkeepers who weren't glaring at me while cursing loudly were in the process of talking to one another, waving gestures in my direction, folding their arms across their chest, or staring at the floor forlornly. The occasional word like 'illegal', or 'outrageous' could be heard over the din, which was actually getting quite loud.

I'd expected it to take quite a bit longer to wind them all up like this. Maybe it was time to turn things around.

"Everyone, everyone . . . please!" I shouted, addressing the roomful of people at the top of my lungs. "Let's all calm down for a moment, shall we? With everyone talking like this, we're not going to get to everyone's questions. Please, everybody take a seat!"

Eventually, amid grumbles of dissatisfaction and anger, the tenants sat themselves back in their chairs.

"Thank you. Please, let's not have any more of that." I pulled a handkerchief from my vest pocket and dabbed my forehead. "That was very stressful just now. There is still much to do here, and, as I've already stated, I wish this to be as brief as possible so you all might return to your homes and enjoy the rest of this holiday."

"Enjoy?!" a roughshod voice near the back sputtered. "You're jackin' our rent, changing the date it's due, and makin' it so the least of us pays as much as the richest! I get to go home and tell my wife that we've got to move before winter, and you're standing there telling me you want me to enjoy the rest of my holiday?!"

"My good man," I said, cocking my head to one side and looking at the fellow who'd spoken, "please forgive me if I've misunderstood, but . . . are you under the impression that I'm raising your rent?"

What appeared to be the beginnings of an angry retort died on his lips, and the burly fellow froze in the act of speaking, his mouth half open. A second later he appeared very uncertain, and his eyes looked a question at his fellow shopkeepers.

An entire roomful of tenants began hastily reviewing the last ten minutes in their minds. The incredulous looks they were giving each other very quickly became incredulous looks that they were giving me.

"Oh dear! Well, that explains everything - I was wondering why this meeting wasn't going well!" I straightened my vest a bit before planting my cane in front of me, leaning heavily on it. "My dear tenants, can any of you think of a rather important question that hasn't been asked yet? Hmmm?"

Their expressions made me want to giggle. They'd gone from bitter resentment to wide-eyed cluelessness in mere seconds.

"Uhm," began a fellow in the front.

"You!" I interrupted, pointing my cane inches from his nose. "You were about to raise your hand?"

He looked puzzled, then hesitantly raised his hand above his head.

"Yes, the fellow with the brown shirt in the front. Go ahead."

"Is it . . . uh-" he began uncertainly. Then he frowned. "How much . . . is our tribute going to be?"

"I'm glad you asked that!" I beamed, twirling my cane flamboyantly by the handle as I took two strides backwards, taking the middle of the stage. Then I put on my most somber, serious face, and gave the crowd my best steely-eyed look.

I waited until every eye was upon me. Nobody in the room was making so much as a peep.

"Your monthly tribute," I said, my tone ominous, "is now . . . two grey marks. Effective immediately, and due," I thumped my cane against the stage for emphasis, ". . . today."

After a few seconds I heard a few nervous chuckles and disbelieving laughs in the back. The rest of the room simply sat quietly, blinking at me.

"Now, as I've said," I continued severely, "there will be no renegotiating this amount based on the size of your shop, or any other reason. Furthermore, I will not tolerate extension requests - I'm putting my foot down. You pay the full monthly amount on time, every time, or you suffer the consequences." I let my eyes wander over the sea of confused faces before me. "Now, are there any additional questions?"

There was some more cautious chuckles in addition to more puzzled looks. They all seemed to want to laugh, but most just sat there staring at me like I was some sort of glowing, demonic apparition that had unexpectedly materialized on stage.

"Two grey? Are you serious?" a voice to my left cried.

"Someone already asked that question, actually. And yes, I'm being completely serious. Two grey per month." I looked about the room. "Does anybody have any real questions?"

"Milord . . . is this some sort of prank?" asked a familiar, bemused voice. I recognized the speaker as Pavlo Redrake, one of the better restauranteurs in my territory, and a friend of my personal cook, Mosond. "I mean, I can appreciate a joke as good as the next guy, but two grey? You can't even buy a decent meat pie for that."

"Oddly enough, Pavlo, I recently purchased several meat pies for under a grey apiece. Although," I considered thoughtfully, "they probably cost me quite a bit more than that in the long run. However, I assure you . . . this is no trick." I pointed my cane to indicate Janviel, who was skulking near the table that had been set up against the rightmost wall. "Over there is my house knight, Janviel. He'll be issuing receipts for this month's tribute. Simply present your merchant seal and two greys to him, and he'll take care of the rest. The receipts will all be stamped and made legal, of course. He's brought a greyberry candle for verification purposes, and he'll answer any questions you might have regarding your receipt's authenticity. Bottom line - you give him two grey marks, you're paid for the month."

"Have you gone mad?" someone asked loudly, producing several laughs nearby.

"Quite the opposite, actually . . . I wish to avoid going mad! Bookkeeping is such a pain in the ass - keeping track of all those numbers and who they belong to." I smiled as wide as my face would allow. "And right now is a particularly delicate time for my marigolds! I can't afford to let myself get distracted by something as mundane as money, can I?"

There were a few guffaws, and some muffled laughter. Shoulders were slowly relaxing everywhere I looked.

"What happens if someone's late paying their two grey?" another voice called. "I mean, I might have trouble coming up with that kind of cash on short notice!"

Hearty, booming laughter erupted at that, and I gave everyone in the room a tight-lipped smile. It was funny, true enough . . . but this was my show, and I wasn't about to allow anyone to upstage me.

"Indeed, a good point. Thank you for bringing that up. I assure you that none of you will want to be tardy paying tribute this month. I will be accepting no excuses, granting no extensions, and tolerating no delays. If you have not paid the amount due, in full, by the end of this day . . . I promise you, there will be consequences! Dire consequences!" I said, striking the stage with my cane for emphasis.

I took a deep breath through my nose and surveyed my audience through narrowed eyes. Everyone's faces were frozen, mid-laugh.

"Those who do not pay promptly will face the harshest financial penalty any Lord has ever leveed against his tenants! Fifty percent interest per week on all outstanding tribute! That's right," I growled, raising a single finger high above my head. "One . . . additional . . . grey! Every week!" I lifted an eyebrow and looked from face to face. "That alone should tell all of you just how seriously I'm taking this new arrangement."

Uproarious laughter this time. Everyone was starting to loosen up, perhaps realizing that things weren't going badly after all. A few would keep themselves up all night worrying about some sort of chicanery they suspected I was pulling, but there was probably nothing I could say that would convince those ones anyway.

"So that's more or less what I wanted to cover here today, and I'll be letting you get back about your business. Doubtless many of you wish to enjoy what remains of your day. I would ask that everyone line up in front of Janviel in an orderly fashion, and without fuss. I assure you he'll be able to get to everyone quickly. Also, one more thing . . . I would ask a favor of you all. Please - please - don't let anyone outside this room know about this new arrangement. If you did, I would be honor-bound to offer them the exact same rate I'm offering you." I gave the collection of faces a solemn nod, pointing offstage with my cane. "I'll be around for another few minutes, so if you have any questions that weren't addressed please let me know. Feel free to enjoy the refreshments."

As I headed offstage, hundreds of people began speaking at once, mostly to one another. While some still sat in their chairs, fully half of them had were rushing over to a wide-eyed Janviel, who was steeling himself for the onslaught of approaching tenants. I noticed with some relief that he'd followed my advice, arranging for a half-dozen of his fellow knights to be standing there with him, just in case things got a little too enthusiastic.

I was content to stand by the wall and watch for a time. After a minute or so, I noticed Pavlo walking up to me, a grin on his face.

"Pavlo," I said, nodding to the slight, mustached foreigner.

"Milord," he replied, giving me a similar bob of his head. His grin got a touch wider. "You're crazy."

I shrugged at him and smiled.

Pavlo continued grinning at me, his eyes wandering over the crowd. Those who had still been sitting before were now milling around Janviel's table, and people closest to the table were waving change-purses in the air and speaking in raised voices.

"You know," he said after a while, "I'd heard Mosond had stumbled upon a particularly good recipe for flitleaf brownies a few years ago. One bite, he told me, and a man might forget his own name for a day or two. I hadn't really believed him at the time, but after seeing this, I might have to go see if I can get a copy of that particular recipe."

"Pavlo," I admonished, "you know me better than that. Trust me, this is an all-natural crazy."

"Half of your tenants will suspect this is a trick, you know," Pavlo smiled, eyes looking a question at me. "They'll be nervous wrecks the next few days, waiting for the other boot to drop."

"Not much I can do about that. After a few days, they'll start to relax. There's no trick."

"Right. My rent is now less than the carriage ride over here cost me, but there's no trick. Your excuse for doing this is thinner than the icing on a truffle rusk, but . . . there's no trick."

"Nope," I smiled. "No trick whatsoever."

"And the bit at the end, about not telling anyone? Everyone's going to be talking about this! You know that. You can't keep something like this quiet . . . people will be coming out of the woodwork to get in on this deal!"

"Really? Occupants in every building? My entire territory filled to capacity? How dreadful."

"And you're seriously going to be charging them two grey each?"

"Yup."

"Until further notice?"

I nodded, grinning.

He grinned back. "You're crazy."

I shrugged. "That's what the voices in my head keep telling me . . ."

We stood there quietly for a while, arms folded, just watching what was going on. Nobody else was coming over to see me, possibly afraid they might say something that changed my mind. Everyone at the table was now shuffling into columns resembling a line, four people wide, and the lineup was getting longer as more and more people shoved their way into it.

"One thing doesn't make sense to me, Milord Tucat. Well, actually, all of this isn't making a whole lot of sense at the moment," Pavlo amended, waving a hand at the mass of humanity before us, "but I have to ask - this amount you're asking for is a token amount, obviously. You could have charged a single copper mark, or charged nothing at all. Why two grey?"

"I thought I'd mentioned that already! This whole arrangement is about making things easier. Roughly fifty percent of what I make every month goes to Prince Tenarreau, right? Well, one grey for me, one for Tenarreau - what's simpler than that?" I flashed Pavlo my teeth. "Gods know I wouldn't want to be accused of cheating our beloved Prince . . ."