At once, Hypolyta became a cool, calculating businesswoman. The transformation was quite remarkable. She sat a little straighter, and while her voice was no less hypnotic, it was a little less warm. "Payment would be in equal amounts, over a four-year period," she replied. "The first payment would be due one year from now, and it would be in the sum of forty-five crowns."
Xylina sighed. That would mean that she would be paying an extra twenty crowns a year for the privilege of borrowing the money-and yet, what other choice did she have? There was no one else willing to loan it to her-certainly no one willing to give it to her. It was either this, or exile, or so it seemed to her.
On the whole, paying eighty crowns to save herself from exile was not a bad bargain.
Was there any other way she could borrow less and save herself some of that fee?
"That seems honorable and reasonable to me," she responded, after a long moment of weighing her options and coming up with no other plan that was even remotely as good. Hypolyta was right; without more money to help her replace what was gone, she would be no better off. She could not remain Lycia's guest forever.
"Very well," the older woman said, with another sweet and matronly smile. "I will call my manservant, and we will draw up the contract."
Lycia's reaction was elation, when Xylina returned with her gold. It was carried by the slave, armed to the teeth and with a special permit that allowed him to be so. Lycia's rugged face lit up when she saw the gold, and she congratulated Xylina on her good fortune, with no hint of ill-feeling. She had not had any luck at all in finding someone to loan Xylina the needed money to discharge her debt. Those of her friends who were sympathetic did not have nearly that much to simply loan away. Those women she knew who had that kind of capital were no more than acquaintances, and they were not at all inclined to loan gold to a strange child, particularly one who seemed to attract bad fortune. Her generous nature made her happy for her new young friend.
"I've never heard of Hypolyta directly, but I've heard of her slaves," she assured Xylina. "They're quite famous actually; I just never knew where they came from. Many of them are eventually freed, but continue to work for their former mistresses for a wage."
"I'm not certain what to do," Xylina said hesitantly. "Faro is not well enough to guard me if I were to take the money to the tax office-"
"Faro needn't do any such thing."
Lycia called for her own manservant and sent him out immediately to the tax-collector and the former owner of the house, with messages telling them to come collect their debts. "Let them come to you," she told Xylina, with a cynical smile. "Since you are doing them the favor of giving them money. Let them provide the guards for that money. Why should you? Why should you go to them?"
When she put it that way, Xylina realized that Lycia was right. And after all, both the government and the broker could afford guards. She could not.
The tax-collector arrived first, with no slave to guard her, clearly thinking that this was some kind of ruse. She showed up at the door, and was ushered into the reception chamber where Xylina and Lycia waited. "I hope this is not a waste of my time," she began. "My time is the Queen's time, after all-"
"I don't think it will be," Lycia said dryly, and Xylina laid out the coronets all in a row on the table. The other woman stared, her frog-like face a blank. "What?" she stammered.
Xylina said nothing, only gestured. The tax-collector was completely shocked and appalled when she realized that Xylina had delivered up the tax-money, and somewhat hysterically demanded that Xylina prove that it was not conjured coin.
Xylina had had enough of the officious creature, and threw the small sack that had held the coins on the table in front of the woman. "Look for yourself," she said, with barely-concealed fury. "These are minted coins . You know very well that no one can conjure minted coins, only blank disks! And even if I could do so, you have only to look at the coins themselves to see that they were minted in many eras! How would I accomplish that particular miracle?"
Her question was unanswerable, for she was entirely correct. Conjured gold could have been stamped with imprints taken from real coins, but where would Xylina have gotten so many different coins? And if she had them, why would she have needed to conjure coin?
Even so, all the tax-collector had to do was hold the coins overnight, in a special locked box. They could not last for longer than that if they had been conjured. Xylina would have gained nothing.
The tax-collector could only stare at the coins, her face a mask of panic, as Xylina scooped them all back in the sack and thrust it at her. Her hands grasped it nervelessly, then dropped it. The sack fell right between her feet. Xylina did not touch it. "Take it!" she demanded, as the woman continued to stare at the sack at her feet, speechless. "Take it, and begone with you and your foolish rules!"
Lycia took a hand, then, staring coldly at the woman, since she showed no signs of leaving or even picking up the sack. "Indeed," the old warrior said, taking an aggressive stance. "You trespass on my hospitality. You have gotten what you demanded, out of all reason or sense. Now sign this receipt and go! You have no more business here." She drew herself up to her full height, and Xylina saw more than a shadow of the old warrior.
It was the law of the city that a woman reigned supreme in her own house; no one other than the Guard on a mandate from the Queen herself could trespass where she was not wanted. It did not matter that this woman would be going out into the street carrying a small fortune, with nothing but her own skills and her bare hands to protect herself-unless she found a Guard or two on the way. She was not wanted in Lycia's home; her brief welcome was over, now she must leave.
After all, it was her own fault that she had not believed the message, that she had come out with no escort, without even her own sword. If she ran into trouble, it was on her head.
The miserable tax-collector was forced to put her signature to a receipt specifying that she had gotten the stipulated sum from Xylina's hands, gather up the sack and go. She bent down and picked up the little sack with shaking hands. And she was clearly afraid, for she was no ex-warrior like Lycia. It could even be that she had passed her own woman-trial simply because she had been lucky enough to find a particularly vulnerable man. A sum of the size she carried would make her a target for ruffians of all types- and tax-collectors were not popular with anyone. If she ran into trouble, she could not count on help from ordinary citizens.
If she lost the money to robbers, she would be forced to replace it out of her own funds. She might even be forced to pay a fine for being so stupid as to risk collected tax-money by going out after it without a guard. She could only hope that word of Xylina's sudden prosperity had not spread to the underground, and that no one knew, as yet, that she was in a position to pay all her debts.
Xylina did not trouble to hide a smile as the woman left, visibly trembling, with the pouch of gold shoved into the bosom of her tunic. Nor did Lycia; in fact, the older woman practically cackled with glee.
The tax-collector scuttled down the street, everything about her saying that she was grossly unhappy and afraid. Xylina felt a surge of contempt. This toad was a full citizen, with an important job, while she, who had won her woman-trial fair and square against a formidable opponent, was the one who was in trouble!
The other woman, who actually had not yet come forward to demand payment in full though she was entitled to, was far wiser. She arrived with six strapping young armed slaves, and the permit for them to carry swords and daggers. And with her she also brought a bottle of a fine vintage wine.
Lycia warmed to her immediately. They were two of a kind. And Xylina was much happier to see her than she had thought she would be.