"I’ve been thinking about what you told me."
Davion looked up at Zebulun. They were camped in the western wild, under a sky crowded with stars, well outside the kingdom. It had been a quiet half-hour since supper, as everyone sat digesting.
Zebulun continued, "Ur told me feed the people. To care for the widows and orphans, and for the blind, the crippled, and the mad. I’ve been wondering how to do that. How do we solve these problems?"
"That’s complicated as well," said Davion.
"You guys are gonna talk about land and money and taxes and stuff again, aren’t you?" asked Quinn.
Zebulun looked at Quinn with mirth. "Yes."
"Okay," said Quinn. "Then I’m gonna get drunk while I listen to ya."
"I’ve seen you drink," said Davion. "I don’t think we brought enough wine to get you drunk."
Quinn grinned and said, "I brought more than you think." He pulled out two wineskins and took a sip of each. "Don’t mind me," he said. "Go on with your boring conversation."
Zebulun turned back to Davion. "Let’s simplify," he said, "like in Chess. Let’s start with the first: rent. What do we do about it? Force lords and princes to keep rents low? Divide up their lands among the people?"
Davion shook his head. "I don’t think either of those would work."
"For the first: you can’t just pretend that a parcel is worth less than it is. Do that, and the owner will wind up making under-the-table deals for the real rent. Or, of you’re able to prevent that, then whoever rents the land can secretly sublet it to another for the full rent and pocket the difference. You’d just create a middleman landlord."
"For the second: that might work in the country, where most workers know how to farm and the lands don’t differ that greatly in value in one place. You would still, however, be taking lands from those who are good at farming and giving it to those who aren’t, at least in some cases. That could lead to shortages of food."
"And forget about the cities. City land is the most valuable of all, but its value varies widely across the city. I doubt you could figure out any way to divide that evenly, and trying would likely cause chaos."
"Why is city land more valuable?" asked Zebulun. "I prefer the country."
"Sure," said Davion, "So do many who have the skill to survive in the wild — or wealth and land enough to retire. For common folk, there’s more work and better wages in the city, especially for skilled artisans. That was one of the big changes, when the kingdom abolished slavery and serfdom centuries ago: no longer tied to a master or an estate, craftsman could come to the city for better wages. This meant lords had to pay their artisans more to make them stay."
"So rents are higher in the city," said Zebulun.
"Right," said Davion, "and they vary dramatically from place to place."
"So," said Zebulun, "how do we solve the problem? How do we stop rent from taking a third of people’s wages?"
"I’m not sure that’s possible," said Davion. "A plot of land is worth what it’s worth. It’s up to the renter if it’s worth it to them. The problem is that most have little choice in the matter."
"But," he said, "I may have a solution."
"Go on," said Zebulun.
"One of the oldest scrolls I have is the story of the founding of a new port city. The author wasn’t a philosopher or a minister; he was just a common man looking for work. The kingdom he inhabited decided to build a new port city, so a number of workers showed up to earn the promised wages."
"Then others followed: people who weren’t involved in the construction, but sold to those who were. They brought better food, new clothing, tools, that sort of thing. The new arrivals, like the builders, enjoyed much higher wages than in the established cities of the kingdom."
"He said no one was rich or poor. Everyone had around the same amount, and it was enough. People lived in tents."
"As the new city progressed, tents became permanent buildings, the periphery expanded for new arrivals, and some became wealthy…while others became poor."
"It puzzled the worker. Why should progress and poverty go hand-in-hand?"
"Why does it?" asked Zebulun.
"He noticed that wages stayed strong as the population grew. Even though more people meant more competition for work, it also meant more people to hire or sell to. The thing the workman noticed: rents went up far more quickly than wages."
"As more and more common folk came there looking for work, wages went down. There were only so many jobs that could pay the rent, and those desperate to keep them were happy with the bare minimum rather than lose their position to one of the hungry, who grew more numerous each year."
Zebulun thought for a moment and asked, "How do we fix it?"
"This worker," said Davion, "should have been a philosopher. He came up with this idea: get rid of all the kingdom’s taxes on common folk, and charge the lords and princes of the kingdom rent for the lands they claim. Common folk will still have to pay rent, but will be much better off without the taxes, and less likely to fall into perpetual usury."
"So you take a portion of the rent from the landlords?" asked Zebulun.
"Yes," said Davion, "but not just a portion of whatever rents they charge. You charge them rent on whatever lands they hold idle as well, such as the lords of the great estates and their vast, private hunting grounds. If holding land idle costs them treasure, it may entice them to sell off some of their vast estates to the landless at prices they can afford."
"Won’t the lords and princes just raise their rents?" asked Zebulun.
"It doesn’t seem to work that way," said Davion. "A plot is worth what it’s worth based on where it is and how many people want it. If the rentiers could raise rents without consideration of external conditions, we would all be paying thousands of gold coins in rent for every scrap of land in the kingdom. This is, of course, impossible. Most don’t have that kind of money."
Zebulun looked at Davion or a moment. "So the king would be lord of lords and prince of princes."
"In a sense, yes," said Davion.
Zebulun sat quiet for a time. "That covers rent and taxes. What about usury?"
"It might be less of a problem," said Davion, "having solved the other problems, but it would still entrap a number of people in lean times."
"How do we fix that one?" asked Zebulun.
"On that," that Davion, "I’m less sure. Some ancient kingdoms forbade the lending of money at interest altogether, seeing it as the exploitation of one’s fellow man. On the other hand, it’s good for people to be able to get loans. Not just for the desperate, but for those who want to build something that will benefit themselves and the community."
"I don’t know," he said. "I don’t think you can prevent moneylenders from charging usury on the black market (like Quinn’s friend Ezekiel), but you could at least limit what the kingdom will enforce. Maybe eliminate compound interest, and limit simple interest to some reasonable percentage. Seven or ten?"
Zebulun nodded and looked up at the stars.
"Ezekiel is my friend," said Quinn, in slurred speech. "He’s not usually such a jerk. He just owes money too. Like, a lot of it." Quinn chuckled and shook his head slowly.
"How are you drunk?" asked Davion. "That wineskin still looks half-full."
Quinn’s eyes twinkled at Davion. "This isn’t wine," said Quinn. "This is whiskey." He held it up. "Want some?"
Zebulun took a swig and handed it back to Quinn.
Davion laughed. "Where did you get whiskey? You’re always broke."
"I got a lot of friends in the capital," said Quinn. "People who are always happy to see me. They gifted me whiskey and wine for my journey."
"You told them about our journey?" asked Davion.
"Not where or why or with who," said Quinn. "Just that I had more traveling to do, and wouldn’t see them for awhile, so they gave me nice things."
"You have generous friends," said Davion.
"Some of them are rich, like you!"
"I’m not that rich," said Davion.
"No-ho," said Quinn with a grin, "you’re not. Not like some of the folks I know."
"Wait," said Davion. "When did you see them? At the bar?"
"I woke up after y’all fell asleep," said Quinn. "It was still early, so I wandered around town saying 'hi' to a few people."
Davion blinked. "You did?"
"Believe it!" said Quinn.
"I didn’t hear you go," said Davion.
"Of course not!" said Quinn. "You had three glasses of wine! That’s got to be a record for you. You were out cold."
"I had a mild headache all the next day," said Davion. He looked at Zebulun. "Did you hear him go?"
"I thought I heard something," said Zebulun, "but the boy is quiet as a mouse. My gut told me the sound wasn’t important, so I stayed asleep."
Davion looked at Quinn and shook his head. "You’re amazing."
Quinn smiled and said, "I know!"