Mage Heir - The Summoner of Beckham Estate?

Silas followed Bonereghard through the creaky corridors of the estate, the sound of his footsteps echoing ominously off the ancient walls. The skeletal butler moved easily, his bony fingers occasionally adjusting his monocle as they walked.

Diog trotted alongside Silas, his small paws barely making a sound on the worn wooden floors. The little wolf cub's ears perked up, alert and curious about their surroundings.

At a side door leading to the outside, Silas paused, taking a moment to look back at the halls that would soon be his. The weight of the few gold coins he'd taken with him made him feel the responsibility of his—

He couldn't believe his luck. Things were finally starting to fall into place.

"Remember, young master," Bonereghard said, his voice as steady as ever. "The estate's fortunes rest on your shoulders now. Do not squander this opportunity."

Silas nodded, resolute. "I won't. I'll take care of everything."

Bonereghard bent down slightly, addressing Diog with a rare softness in his tone. "Keep the young fool safe," he said, placing a bony hand on Diog's head. "He'll need your strength more than he knows."

Diog barked softly in response, his tail wagging in understanding.

Silas paused. "You know I can hear you, right?"

Bonereghard adjusted his monocle. "Ah, yes. I suppose eavesdropping is a skill you're refining alongside your monster taming."

Silas sighed, shaking his head. "I wasn't eavesdropping. You were literally talking about me right in front of me."

The skeletal butler's mustache seemed to twitch as he responded, "How bizarre. You do have the makings of a great Magus, I didn't even notice your presence."

Diog let out a soft growl, clearly sensing the tension. Silas reached down and patted the cub's head, feeling a small comfort in the loyal creature's presence.

"I'll just be going then," Silas sighed and headed out.

Keeping his head low, he quickly moved through Bastian's rings, keeping a wary eye out for any signs of trouble. The heavy weight of the gold in his pouch gave him confidence and a sense of urgency.

The journey to the Magistrate's Office seemed quicker this time. Silas navigated the bustling streets with purpose, weaving through crowds and dodging market stalls with practiced ease. The magistrate's stone building loomed ahead, a stark reminder of the bureaucracy he had to conquer.

Silas pushed open the doors and stepped inside, greeted by the familiar sight of the magistrate hunched over his desk. Diog stayed close by his side, alert and ready.

"You're back," the magistrate muttered without looking up from his paperwork. "I assume you've returned to explain why you haven't paid the taxes yet?"

Silas reached into his pouch and pulled out several gold coins, setting them down on the desk with a solid clink. "Actually, I'm here to pay."

The magistrate's quill froze mid-scribble. Slowly, he raised an eyebrow and glanced down at the gold. He reached for the coins, sliding them toward himself and counting quickly before giving a satisfied nod.

"Well, well," he said, finally looking up at Silas. "I'll admit, I didn't expect you to come through so quickly." He made a quick note in his ledger and produced a scroll from one of the nearby stacks. "With this payment, you're now eligible to claim the Beckham estate as its rightful heir."

He handed Silas the scroll with a slightly reluctant air, as though disappointed there wasn't more drama involved.

Silas took it, feeling its weight and importance settle into his hands. The parchment crinkled beneath his fingers as he unrolled it slightly to confirm its authenticity.

"Everything appears to be in order," the magistrate continued, leaning back in his chair. "The estate is now yours. Make sure to talk with the Clerk's Office after this. Of course, you're still responsible for paying off the rest of the back taxes, but for now… congratulations, Lord Beckham."

Silas nodded slowly.

Lord Beckham.

The title felt strange yet empowering.

"Thank you," he said simply before pocketing the deed.

The magistrate grunted in acknowledgment. "If I were you," he added gruffly, "I'd get to work quickly. An estate like that doesn't stay standing on good intentions alone. Complications arise quite quickly."

Silas smiled. "One step at a time."

As Silas turned to leave, the magistrate's voice halted him mid-step. "Oh, one last thing. What of the summon I lent to you? The Grey Owl was mine, her name was Hidwig."

Silas felt a jolt of panic. He hadn't expected this. Words began to tumble out of his mouth in a haphazard attempt to dodge the question.

"Uh, well, Hidwig, you see... she's... she's on a, uh, break. Yes, a little vacation. You know how it is with owls and their, um, migratory patterns?"

The magistrate's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Migratory patterns? She's a summon, not a wild creature."

"Right! Right, of course," Silas stammered, his mind racing. "What I meant was... Hidwig and I... we had this incredible bond, and then there was this battle, well, not just any battle, a skirmish really. And Hidwig... well, she decided to take a tactical retreat."

"A tactical retreat?" The magistrate's voice dripped with skepticism.

"Yes! Precisely!" Silas nodded vigorously. "She thought it best to gather her strength elsewhere for a while. Very strategic owl."

Diog nudged Silas's leg as if sensing his unease. Silas glanced down at the wolf cub for support but found only expectant eyes staring back at him.

"So," the magistrate pressed on, "where is she now?"

"Now? Oh, um..." Silas shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other. "She's... uh... on a reconnaissance mission! Yes! Very important work—spying on potential threats to the estate."

The magistrate leaned forward over his desk, fingers steepled. "A reconnaissance mission? You sent my summon on a mission without informing me?"

"Well," Silas hesitated, his thoughts tangling into a messy knot. "It wasn't so much 'sent' as it was... encouraged. She took the initiative! Very independent spirit, that Hidwig."

The magistrate's expression darkened. "You're saying Hidwig disobeyed her summoner and went off on her own?"

Silas swallowed hard. "No, no! Not disobeyed exactly... more like... exercised her autonomy in the interest of mutual goals." He could feel sweat beading at his temples. "I don't think she's coming back."

The magistrate opened his mouth to speak again when Silas decided it was time for an exit strategy.

"You know what," he said quickly, taking several hurried steps backward towards the door. "I think we should just catch up later! Lots of other estate things to handle! Very busy schedule! The clerk is next right? Thanks again!"

With that, Silas turned on his heel and bolted out the door before the magistrate could respond.

Diog scampered after him as they dashed through the corridors of the magistrate's office and out into the bustling streets of Bastian once more.

As they ran, Silas couldn't help but mutter under his breath about how he'd never hear the end of this if the magistrate found out what he'd done with that owl.

"Reconnaissance mission," he snorted softly to himself while dodging pedestrians. "More like permanent retirement."

Silas and Diog left the Magistrate's Office with the deed safely tucked into his coat, but a growing unease gnawed at him. The magistrate's parting words about complications rattled in his head.

He needed to get a clearer picture of just how deep his grandfather's financial troubles ran, and just how much the small fortune in the hidden room could handle it.

Next up, he headed toward the office of Bastian's Tax Registry, a cramped, dimly lit building nestled between a series of towering administrative blocks.

The sign outside was faded, and the windows covered in dust, but the constant line of people going in and coming out with long faces made it clear, this was where debts were tracked, tallied, and, more often than not, escalated.

Inside, a bored-looking clerk sat behind a counter, surrounded by piles of paper and ledgers that threatened to spill off the desk.

Silas stepped up, flashing his newly acquired deed.

"I need to settle the remaining back taxes on the Beckham estate."

The clerk's eyes, dull and glassy, flicked up at him before sighing deeply. "Another one, huh? Just a moment." She flipped through a thick stack of parchment before pulling out a file labeled Beckham Estate - Delinquent.

She adjusted her glasses and began to read. Her brow furrowed slightly as her eyes moved down the page. Silas shifted uncomfortably, feeling the weight of the situation growing by the second.

"Ah... here it is," she finally said, tapping the paper. "You've made the initial payment, but there's quite a bit left outstanding."

"How much exactly?" Silas asked, wondering how much of the gold in the hidden room would be left over.

"Well, the base back tax owed is 2,997 gold."

Silas grit his teeth. It was such a big number that even hearing it, when he knew it was coming made him uncomfortable. But before he could say 'Fine', the clerk continued.

"Of course, that's just the original amount."

Silas blinked. "What? Wait... just... the original?"

The clerk sighed again, clearly used to this routine. "Yes, you see, there are late fees, compounded interest, and several penalty charges accrued over the years. Not to mention the administrative fees, property preservation costs, and… let me see…" She flipped to another page, her voice droning on mechanically. "Yes, here we are. After adjustments, penalties, compounding interest—"

"Just give me the final number," Silas interrupted with a pained expression.

The clerk scribbled some numbers in the margin of the page with dispassionate efficiency. Then she pushed the ledger toward Silas, pointing to the final number circled in red.

"You owe 15,623 gold."

Silas stared at the number as if it might change if he blinked enough times. "Fifteen thousand?" he managed to choke out.

"Plus a few more fees that will be added next month if payment isn't made in full," she added helpfully. "It's all standard procedure really, let me check again."

She started to tally up some columns and muttered, "Base of 2999, compounded, carry the five…"

Silas felt his mouth go dry and his stomach churn with anxiety as she continued her cold explanation about compounded interest and recalculations for property value adjustments.

"Fifteen thousand gold…" he muttered to himself.

Even with all that treasure tucked away back at the estate, how could he possibly make a dent in that?

"Yes, Lord Beckham," said the clerk through her glasses. "If you need to set up a payment plan, our financing department specializes in long-term repayment options for individuals in your situation."

Silas grimaced. "And how long-term are we talking?"

"Oh, decades I'd imagine, possibly generations depending on how quickly you can amass funds."

He felt his stomach turn again but managed not to vomit right there on her desk.

Silas stared at the number, his mind spinning.

He swallowed hard, his mouth dry as sandpaper.

"I... I need to think about this," he stammered, his voice practically choking itself in his throat. "Before I commit to any payment plan or terms."

The clerk raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed by his hesitation. "Of course, Lord Beckham. Take all the time you need," she said in a tone that suggested she had seen this scenario play out countless times before. "But do keep in mind that the longer you wait, the more the debt will accrue."

For now, he'd take things one step at a time.

He had no choice.

The clerk flipped her file shut and gave him a knowing smile. "Anything else I can assist you with today?"

Silas shook his head slowly and retreated from the counter like someone who'd just been handed a life sentence instead of an inheritance.

He needed gold, and lots of it, far more than what Bonereghard had shown him earlier at the estate...