Chapter 21
Companion Star
“Friendly and optimistic.”
That was the hallmark of the Bigyeon (Companion Star).
Hector embodied it perfectly: a genial-looking man with a warm smile.
From what Elliot had said, not only the domain’s residents but even the Duchess Dowager seemed to trust him.
But… the Companion Star clashes with Wealth.
To “clash” means to dig out and deplete—
in simpler terms, it weakens the storehouse of riches.
It made sense. The Companion Star is strongly optimistic, drawn to enjoying the present moment.
That powerful belief that today’s pleasures will last forever is what drives it.
Someone like that might make a fine village headman, perhaps,
but entrusting the tax revenues of an entire estate—where great sums flow in and out—was risky.
Of course, a person’s fate and surroundings shape them.
Depending on how he lived, Hector could well be an excellent steward.
Even so, Anje couldn’t shake the Duke’s earlier remark:
“The harvest increased, yet tax income fell.”
What if the Duchess Dowager had ordered lower tax rates,
and the steward hid it, pocketing the difference?
Was she the only one entertaining such ugly thoughts?
Still, it wasn’t really her place to interfere.
She hadn’t been hired for this, and getting tangled in the Duke’s household affairs could bring her trouble.
While Anje wrestled with her private suspicions, the Duke spoke again.
“The relief program for the poor is proceeding well, I trust?”
At that, Hector’s face clouded. He hesitated before stammering a reply.
“The budget we prepared for this year is already spent, so the usual yearly food distributions… must be suspended.
If next year’s harvest is good, we might resume then…”
“No budget? That means money isn’t circulating,”
Anje thought grimly.
Which meant the poor would suffer even more.
She lifted her gaze from her toes, displeasure darkening her eyes.
No doubt this Hector, though not of high rank, had been born a noble and never truly gone hungry.
That must be why he spoke so casually.
Anje, raised in the slums, had known winters when her family went without food despite having parents.
For orphans it was worse: as spring neared, the hungry days outnumbered the fed.
The misery of an empty stomach is unknown to those who’ve never endured it.
Anje glanced at the Duke, anxious.
What if he agreed to cut the aid?
What if he turned his back on the starving?
Thankfully, the Duke’s brow furrowed and he shook his head.
“Can you guarantee they’ll survive until then?
Many already live on a single meal a day.”
“…”
“I’ll send additional funds and grain.
See that no one starves to death.”
“If you’d be so generous…”
Hector beamed, nodding eagerly.
Anje stepped forward, watching him closely.
“That’s a fine walking stick you have.”
Hector looked her way.
“And you are…?”
“Ah, my apologies for the late introduction.
I’m Anje Beaufort, recently appointed as His Grace’s aide.”
Anje smoothly offered the practiced, false surname and a bright, professional smile.
“Ha!”
The Duke let out a dry chuckle.
This aide, who showed him only stiff formality, was suddenly sweet and chatty with a middle-aged steward.
“That bag—is it from the department store?
I had my eye on it too.
It’s a rare piece, quite fine.
But… expensive, wasn’t it?
The leather feels wonderfully soft.”
Despite meeting Hector for the first time, Anje struck up an effortless, friendly conversation.
“I heard the artisan who makes these is hard to find.
How ever did you manage to get one?”
The Duke’s bemused expression shifted from mild distaste to utter surprise.
This cheerful, smiling chatterbox hardly resembled the taciturn aide he knew.
His gaze followed Anje’s fingers as she lightly touched Hector’s cane and bag.
Now that he noticed, those items were rather too costly for a mere estate steward.
Hmm…
The Duke’s eyes narrowed as he glanced toward the just-signed papers.
He had trusted a longtime servant of the family—but had he been careless?
Hector darted a nervous look at the Duke, who appeared absorbed in his documents, indifferent to the small talk.
Catching Hector’s eye, Elliot offered a friendly nod and smile.
It’s fine… right? Surely he won’t suspect?
Hector hesitated, then mumbled,
“Ah, well… if you place a reservation at the department store, they contact you.
So, while I was in the capital…”
“My, and those items never go on sale, do they?”
Momentarily flustered, Hector kept talking.
This, too, was a trait of the Companion Star: brimming confidence and an inability to hide one’s feelings.
Buoyed by Anje’s praise, he forgot the Duke’s presence and proudly turned up the collar of his coat.
“Ahem. Naturally. Perhaps you don’t know, miss,
but Berkshire Department Store never discounts true quality.
They make only ten of these coats a season—
I paid fifty gold for this one.”
“Heavens! And is that ruby in your cane?”
“You have a good eye.
A very fine stone—remarkably clear.
Because of it, I paid a full hundred gold for this walking stick.”
The Duke, part owner of that very department store, raised an eyebrow—
he hadn’t known about any “reservation system” or discounts.
Leaning back, he regarded Anje and Hector in turn.
“Elliot.”
“Yes, Your Grace!”
Sensing the sudden chill in the Duke’s tone, Elliot stiffened.
At the Duke’s word, Anje’s chatter ceased.
Her usual impassive face returned.
“What is the steward’s salary?”
“Two silver a week, Your Grace.
Quite generous compared to other employees.”
“And to save fifty gold—how long would that take?”
Hector blanched, realizing something was wrong.
“Assuming he spent nothing,
fifty weeks to save one gold…
Two thousand five hundred weeks for fifty gold—
just over fifty-one years.”
The Duke’s gaze swept over Hector’s fine cane, quality bag, and gleaming shoes.
Hector’s family was of minor nobility, without wealth.
“Then how shall we explain this?
The man seems to be wearing the equivalent of five hundred years of wages.”
The Duke’s voice stretched coldly.
Elliot opened the door with a sharp snap of his fingers.
“What is it, sir?” a guard asked.
Elliot signaled toward Hector.
“Take him.”
Hector shook off the soldiers’ hands and collapsed at the Duke’s feet, clutching his trousers.
“Your Grace! There’s some misunderstanding!
I—I can explain everything!”
“Whether it’s a misunderstanding will become clear in the investigation. Don’t worry.”
The Duke’s meaning was clear:
Hector would need to explain not only his luxurious attire but also how he knew about department store policies that even the Duke himself hadn’t heard of.
The Duke’s face hardened.
“Search his house in the estate.
Compare the ledgers to the actual taxes collected.
Find a suitable replacement for the steward. And also…”
He fixed Hector with an icy stare.
“Conduct a thorough audit of all retainers and administrators to be sure nothing like this happens again.”
“Yes, Your Grace,” Elliot answered gravely.
To think they had just praised this man as respected and well-liked—
as the Duke’s chief aide, it was a humiliating disgrace.
Growing frantic, Hector wailed for mercy.
His plea had shifted from claims of innocence to desperate confessions—
an admission before the investigation even began.
“I’ll be back shortly,” Elliot said, leaving to handle the matter.
Silence settled over the room.
Anje began inching sideways toward her desk in the adjoining room when the Duke’s voice stopped her.
“How did you know?”
She froze.
Though he still faced the window, she knew his attention was fixed on her every move.
“What do you mean?”
She feigned ignorance.
“That Hector was suspicious.”
In truth, Anje thought the real mistake lay elsewhere:
entrusting vast sums to someone merely because the family had employed him for generations.
Whether or not he carried the Companion Star was irrelevant.
This wasn’t a museum of antiques.
How could anyone hand over the estate’s finances simply out of tradition, without careful scrutiny?
And then neglect oversight?
But Anje couldn’t voice such thoughts.
She merely stared into empty space, biting them back.
