Three weeks passed in a whirlwind of construction, training, and carefully managed chaos.

Cael had forgotten what it felt like to be this exhausted. Or maybe he'd never been this exhausted, even in his previous life during crunch time on major projects. At least then he'd had coffee, comfortable beds, and weekends. Here, he had weak tea, a straw mattress that did his back no favors, and the reality that stopping meant death.

Still, the progress was undeniable.

Five new wells were operational across the estate, with three more under construction. The worker training program had been more successful than he'd dared hope, turns out people were highly motivated to learn skills that would save their children's lives. Disease rates were already dropping in areas with clean water access.

The agricultural consultation tours had borne fruit, literally. Farmers who'd been skeptical about crop rotation were seeing early results from test plots. The estate's first experimental water mill was under construction, promising to dramatically increase grain processing capacity. Storage facilities were being repaired, roads were being graded, and a basic drainage system was taking shape in the main town.

But none of it had generated actual revenue yet. And the tax collector was arriving today.

Cael stood in the manor's entrance hall, dressed in his finest clothes*, which the original Sarek had plenty of*, ironically, trying not to fidget. Beside him, Lady Mavena was the picture of noble composure, though Cael could see the tension in the set of her shoulders. Count Vance was present too, insisting on attending despite his weakness. Lillian hovered nearby, her expression carefully neutral.

"Remember," Lady Mavena said quietly, "be respectful but not obsequious. Show confidence in our improvements without seeming arrogant. And for heaven's sake, don't mention your... hands-on approach to construction. Tax collectors expect nobles to be nobles."

Cael glanced down at his hands, which were now properly calloused from three weeks of physical labor. The blisters had healed into tough skin that marked him as someone who actually worked. He'd been oddly proud of them until his mother pointed out they were basically evidence of class transgression.

"I'll try to keep my revolutionary peasant sympathies under control," he muttered.

"Sarek." His mother's voice was sharp with warning.

"Sorry. Yes. Noble dignity. I can do noble dignity."

Lillian snorted quietly, then covered it with a cough when their mother glared at her.

++-++

The sound of hoofbeats on the drive announced the tax collector's arrival. Cael straightened, forcing himself into what he hoped was a lordly posture. It was time to see if three weeks of frantic development work would buy them more time, or if they were about to be condemned to execution ahead of schedule.

The doors opened, and the tax collector entered.

Cael had expected someone who looked elderly and corrupt, dripping with the kind of petty officiousness that characterized bureaucrats in every world. What he got instead was a man in his forties, professionally dressed, with sharp eyes that missed nothing and the bearing of someone who took his job seriously.

"Lord Ashford," the tax collector said, inclining his head precisely the appropriate amount for addressing a count. "Lady Ashford. I am Assessor Rell, tax assessor for the Duke's office. I trust you received notification of my arrival?"

"We did." Lady Mavena's voice was perfectly modulated, pleasant but not warm, respectful but not deferential. "Welcome to Ashford Manor, Assessor Rell. May we offer you refreshment after your journey?"

"That would be most welcome, my lady."

The initial pleasantries were excruciating. Cael had to sit through tea and small talk while his mind raced with calculations and contingency plans. Assessor Rell was polite, professional, and gave absolutely nothing away. He complimented the quality of the tea, commented on the weather, and asked after Count Vance's health with what seemed like genuine concern.

Then, finally, finally, he set down his cup and opened his ledger.

"Shall we discuss the matter at hand?" Assessor Rell's tone remained pleasant, but his eyes were all business. "The estate's tax obligation for this quarter amounts to twelve thousand silver marks. I understand there have been... challenges in meeting previous obligations?"

"Challenges" was a diplomatic way of saying "the lord is a gambling addict who destroyed the estate's finances." Cael appreciated the tact even as he braced for the hard part.

"We are unable to pay the full amount at this time," Lady Mavena said, her voice steady despite the admission that could doom them all. "However, we wish to present evidence of significant improvements that will enable future payments."

Assessor Rell's expression didn't change. "I see. Lord Ashford, do you have anything to add?"

All eyes turned to Cael. This was his moment, either he convinced this man that the estate was worth saving, or they were finished, and not just finished, dead!

"Yes," Cael said, standing. "If you'll permit me, Assessor Rell, I'd like to show you what we've accomplished in the past three weeks. Then we can discuss payment terms."

Something flickered in the assessor's eyes that looked like curiosity, maybe. "Very well. I'm interested to see what progress could be made in such a short time."