Jean Genie
Copyright© 2026 by Rachael Jane
Chapter 39: The King’s Tax Collectors
Nantes, September 1673
The news spreads through the waterfront like a spark catching dry timber: No fewer than twenty Royal tax collectors have arrived in Nantes.
By mid‑morning, the counting house is a hive of nervous activity. Clerks whisper over ledgers. Porters hurry through the hall carrying crates of documents. Even Madame Dupré moves with sharper purpose, her voice clipped, her eyes cold.
Marie sits at the long table, copying figures with steady hands, though her breath trembles. I hover beside her to offer reassurance. Dupré storms into the room, slamming the door behind him.
“They’re inspecting every merchant house along the river front,” he snaps. “Every warehouse. Every ledger.”
Laurent and Jules exchange uneasy glances. Marie has already established that the falsified ledger entries she noticed weeks ago were in either Laurent’s or Jules’s hand. Marie presumes Dupré is aware of the deception, since he tolerates Jules’s frequent absences far more than he would any other employee.
Dupré rounds on Marie. “Our books are not ready. And you will help fix them.”
Marie stiffens. “Fix them?”
“Adjust the entries,” Dupré says, waving a hand as though the matter is trivial. “Shift the dates. Move the payments. Make the numbers match.”
Marie’s stomach tightens. “Monsieur, I can’t...”
“You can and will,” he says sharply. “You are new to this work and we can easily dismiss your alterations in the ledgers as a novice’s errors.”
Laurent steps forward, arms crossed. “It’s simple work. I’ll step you through the entries that need amending.”
Jules adds, “Everyone does it. You’re just new.”
Marie’s pulse quickens. She looks down at the ledger Laurent places before her. She studies the altered entries, the mismatched shipments, the vague cargo descriptions. She thinks of the tax collectors, of their sharp eyes and strict authority.
“I won’t falsify records,” she says quietly.
Dupré’s face darkens. “You will do as I say.”
Marie’s breath trembles. “I won’t.”
Laurent scoffs. “She thinks she’s too good for us.”
Jules mutters, “Canada must make people stupid.”
Marie flinches. I drift closer, my voice soft but firm. “You are right to refuse. Hold your ground.”
Dupré steps toward her, looming. “If you don’t adjust the ledgers, the inspectors will see discrepancies and look further. And if they discover everything, we will all suffer. Do you understand?”
Marie meets his gaze. “I understand. But I won’t lie.”
Dupré’s jaw tightens. Marie’s hands shake. She looks down at the bracelet, still warm and protective. She whispers under her breath, “Jeannia ... help me.”
I place an ethereal hand symbolically on her shoulder. “I am here.”
Dupré slams his palm on the table. “Fix the numbers, girl!”
Marie’s voice trembles, but she does not bend. “No.”
Laurent steps forward, anger rising. “You’re a junior clerk. You’ll do as you’re told. No tax agent is going to bother interrogating a junior clerk.”
Jules adds, “If she won’t help, she’s useless.”
Marie’s breath catches. I drift between her and the men, unseen but present. “Marie,” I whisper, “you are not alone.”
Dupré’s voice drops to a dangerous growl. “If you refuse, I will dismiss you. And you will have nowhere to go.”
Marie swallows hard. “Then dismiss me.”
The room goes still. Laurent stares. Jules mutters a curse. Dupré’s face twists with fury. But Marie doesn’t move. She has called Dupré’s bluff. Marie knows too much for him to dismiss her. I feel the bracelet pulse with a quiet pride.
Dupré steps back, breathing hard. “Fine. Do nothing. But if the inspectors find fault, it will be on your head.”
Marie’s voice is barely audible. “I understand.”
Dupré storms out, slamming the door so hard the ink pots tremble. Laurent and Jules glare at her before following him. Marie sits frozen, breath shaking, hands trembling.
I kneel beside her, ethereal and gentle. “You did the right thing.”
Marie wipes her eyes. “I’m scared.”
“I know,” I say softly. “But courage is not the absence of fear. It is choosing truth despite it.”
She nods, swallowing hard. Outside, the sound of heavy boots echo down the street. The tax collectors are approaching. And Marie’s refusal has set the stage for everything that comes next.
The tax collectors reach the Dupré establishment shortly after midday. Two men in royal blue coats stride into the counting house, boots striking the floor with the confidence of men who carry the King’s warrant. Their presence cuts through the air like a blade. Clerks freeze. Porters stop mid‑step. Even Madame Dupré’s sharp composure falters for a heartbeat.
Marie sits at the ledger table, hands folded tightly in her lap. I hover beside her in ethereal form, seen only by her. Anticipating her fear, the bracelet warms protectively.
The taller collector speaks first. “We are conducting an inspection of all mercantile establishments in Nantes. His Majesty requires strict compliance with the Ordonnance de Commerce.”
Dupré forces a smile. “Of course. You will find everything in order here.”
To read the complete story you need to be logged in:
Log In or
Register for a Free account
(Why register?)
* Allows you 3 stories to read in 24 hours.