Macurdy looked at his wife. “I doubt that Melody would like living in a city, especially where people might be hostile to us. She might run someone through before it was over.”
“Well, if you’re set on farming, I’ve got a farm for you. Actually a choice of two large estates. Their ex‑owners were guilty of major tax frauds.”
“What will the locals think of that? The neighbors around there?”
“They’ll cheer. They’re smallholders, and both the men I’ve thrown in prison were old favorites of Gurtho, arrogant and overbearing.” He cocked an eyebrow. “Actually I had another job I’d hoped you’d take, if you turned down the ambassadorship. And to tell the truth, I can’t imagine you being satisfied as a farmer very long, after what you’ve been doing.”
Macurdy shook his head, laughing. “You don’t know me as well as you think. I’m a farmer born and bred.” He paused. “What did you have in mind?”
“Minister of Revenue. It needs a strong man, the income is more reliable than farming, and you’d have a lot of influence.”
Macurdy shook his head vigorously. “No way in hell would I take that job. You might consider Tarlok though; he could do it, do it right. And Kithro’s worth considering as ambassador.”
“Hmm. You know, that’s a good idea. Both of them are. I’ll take it up with them.”
“Just don’t tell Tarlok I recommended him.”
Wollerda grunted. “Anyone who’d want the job, I’d rather not give it to. In running a kingdom, money’s a problem, but if you don’t tax honestly, the whole thing turns sour.”
Macurdy sipped his buttermilk, saying nothing. He was thinking about the new furniture and wall hangings in the palace, all expensive.
Wollerda’s next words popped Macurdy out of his reverie. “Liiset,” he said, “who did you recommend to the Dynast as dynast-designate? And who did you recommend against? Can you tell us?”
Liiset looked at him calmly. “Of the four I recommended, only two are anyone you know of. My first recommendation was Varia, if we could somehow get her back. When we were young, she was trained for the executive staff. But that’s out, since she’s married Cyncaidh. And my second—” She turned to their guests. “My second was Curtis Macurdy.” They gawped, Macurdy especially. “You’re of Sisterhood lineage,” she pointed out, “and I see no reason that the Dynast has to be a woman, though who knows how Sarkia might look at it. As for recommending against someone—I’ll keep that to myself. It’s not someone I dislike; simply someone whose appointment would be unfortunate, a source of abrasion and conflict.”
Liiset’s report introverted them, killing the conversation. After a few minutes, Wollerda excused them.
Before they went to sleep, Melody lay gazing at the ceiling. “Macurdy,” she said, “I’m glad you refused to be the tax collector.”
He grunted. “It’s a lousy job. A lot of people are going to resent whoever does it, even if he’s honest. To do a good job of it, you’ve got to push, even throw people in jail. If I had to do that, I’d get mad every time I saw money wasted, and any government invented by man is going to waste money. Even if it’s only poor judgement.”
Melody nodded. “I grew up thinking there were only three honorable professions: soldier, farmer, and shaman. And I’d rather have you be a farmer. Farmers are home at night.” She turned on her side, fondled him, felt him swell. “Soldiers are likelier to get killed, too.” She raised up on an elbow, kissed him and threw a leg across his. “And I want us to be together a long long time.”
They moved to one of the farms, into a house with eight rooms plus kitchen, pantry, cellar, and servants’ wing. The field hands had kept the crops in decent tilth, and Macurdy had no difficulties with any of them. Summer faded into fall, and Melody learned about morning sickness. The corn was harvested, the potatoes dug, and fall plowing gotten under way. Farming wasn’t as satisfying as he remembered it, but Macurdy told himself that would change when the crops were crops he’d planted himself. And when he learned where to get alfalfa seed, and peanuts, and other things he wanted to try.