Reave the Just and Other Tales Read Free Page B

who found that he could not after all refuse money. “All of my magicks succeed, or I will know the reason why. Return tomorrow. Bring your gold then.”
    He closed his door so that Jillet would not have a chance to change his mind.
    Jillet walked home musing to himself. Now that he had time to consider the matter, he found that he had placed himself in an awkward position. True, the love of the widow Huchette promised to be a valuable investment—but it was an investment only, not coin. The alchemist would require coin. In fact, the coin was required in order to obtain the investment. And Jillet had no coin, not on the scale the alchemist had mentioned. The truth was that he had never laid mortal eyes on that scale of coin.
    And he had no prospects which might be stretched to that scale, no skills which could earn it, no property which could be sold for it.
    Where could a man like Jillet of Forebridge get so much money?
    Where else?
    Congratulating himself on his clarity of wit, Jillet went to the usurers.
    He had had no dealings with usurers heretofore. But he had heard rumors. Some such “lenders” were said to be more forgiving than others, less stringent in their demands. Well, Jillet had no need of anyone’s forgiveness; but he felt a natural preference for men with amiable reputations. From the honest alchemist, he went in search of an amiable usurer.
    Unfortunately, amiable, forgiving usurers had so much kindness in their natures because they could afford it; and they could afford it because their investments were scantly at risk: they demanded collateral before hazarding coin. This baffled Jillet more than a little. The concept of collateral he could understand—just—but he could not understand why the widow Huchette did not constitute collateral. He would use the money to pay the alchemist; the alchemist would give him a love potion; the potion would win the widow; and from the widow’s holdings the usurer would be paid. Where was the fallacy in all this?
    The usurer himself had no difficulty detecting the fallacy. More in sorrow than in scorn, he sent Jillet away.
    Other “lenders” were similarly inclined. Only their pity varied, not their rejection.
    Well, thought Jillet, I will never gain the widow without assistance. I must have the potion.
    So he abandoned his search for an amiable usurer and committed himself, like a lost fish, to swim in murkier waters. He went to do business with the kind of moneylender who despised the world because he feared it. This moneylender feared the world because his substance was always at risk; and his substance was always at risk because he required no collateral. All he required was a fatal return on his investment.
    “One fifth!” Jillet protested. The interest sounded high, even to him. “No other lender in Forebridge asks so much.”
    “No other lender in Forebridge,” wheezed the individual whose coin was endangered, “risks so much.”
    True, thought Jillet, giving the man his due. And after all, one fifth was only a number. It would not amount to much, if the widow were won swiftly. “Very well,” he replied calmly. “As you say, you ask no collateral. And my prospects cannot fail. One fifth in a year is not too much to pay for what I will gain, especially”—he cleared his throat in a dignified fashion, for emphasis—“since I will only need the use of your money for a fortnight at most.”
    “A
year
?” The usurer nearly burst a vessel. “You will return me one fifth a
week
on my risk, or you can beg coin of fools like yourself, for you will get none from me!”
    One fifth in a week. Perhaps for a moment Jillet was indeed stunned. Perhaps he went so far as to reconsider the course he had chosen. One fifth in a week, each and every week— And what if the potion failed? Or if it were merely slow? He would never be able to pay that first one fifth, not to mention the second or the third—and certainly not the original sum itself. Why, it was