The Mighty Dragons Are Dead - Chapter 13: Black Tulip

Chapter 13: Black Tulip

Translator: Henyee Translations  Editor: Henyee Translations

“Hurry up, you stupid lubber! The lord wants the details of your family. Put on your clothes and bring your wife and your children to the empty ground ahead! I’ll break your leg if you are slow!”

The patrolmen pounded on the doors and shouted into the cottages.

Very soon, all the farmers of Barleyton were gathered in the empty ground under the urging of the patrolmen.

They whispered to each other and looked at the desk at the center now and then. Behind the desk was a woman in her forties. She was sorting a thick pile of paper. There was a younger maid behind her preparing ink for her.

“Who’s she?”

“I’ve never seen her before.”

“Idiot! She must be a maid from the castle!”

“That’s right! Her clothes must’ve been ironed. Only the lord’s maid can wear such clean clothes.”

“What does the lord want? Those people mentioned demo… something.”

“Demography.” An old farmer chewed the root of a plant and said, “Ten years ago, the earl had someone run statistics. At that time, Barleyton had much more people than it does now. Too many people were starved in the blizzard seven years ago.”

Before the desk, the intimidating patrolmen bowed and scraped. “Mrs. Mason, Ms. Michonne, all the serfs in Barleyton are gathered.”

“I am not a miss; I’m just a maid in the castle.” Michonne Cowtail was actually happy about how they addressed her. She asked with a smile, “Is everyone here? Don’t miss any, or both you and we will be punished.”

“Of course, I guarantee that no one is hiding.”

Mrs. Mason nodded. “All right, then. Ask the households to come in turns and go home afterward. Do not come and register again.”

“All right.”

The patrolmen brought the serfs to the desk.

According to the questions Liszt prepared earlier, Mrs. Mason asked, “You’re the patriarch? What’s your name?”

“H-Hope, my lady.”

“Don’t be nervous. I want your full name, Mr. Hope.”

“O-Okay. I am Hope Swill.”

“Well, Mr. Hope, is your whole family here? What’s your wife’s name? And what about your sons and your daughter? How old are you? What do you do for a living? Is your wife the same? Does your first son have a job?”

Soon, Mrs. Mason finished her inquiry and recorded the information on a piece of paper.

Patriarch: Hope Swill, 37, a barley farmer, no disabilities; wife: Simon Swill, 34, a barley farmer, no disabilities; first son: Robert Swill, 20, an oat farmer, crippled; second son: Peter Swill, 17, a barley farmer, no disabilities; daughter: Lily Swill, 15, hen caretaker at home, no disabilities.

After recording the information, Mr. Mason confirmed it with them.

Making sure that it was correct, she said gently, “Mr. and Mrs. Hope, you may return now.”

“Oh, o-okay.”

After a busy day, piles of paper were delivered to Liszt, and the census for Flower Town was completed.

“Liszt, this is amazing. You solved such a difficult problem so easily. You will be a qualified lord. Definitely,” Goltai praised.

“Mr. Goltai, let’s save the compliments. Please sum up the numbers and give me a report.”

“With pleasure.”

Perhaps Goltai felt pressure because of Liszt’s efficiency. He lit a candle and worked all night for the first time.

The next morning, the calculations were sent to Liszt after he had breakfast and finished training.

“My lord, Mr. Goltai worked all night. His eyes were bloodshot when he brought the files over,” said Carter.

“Treat him with nice food and wine. This job has to be done. I do not want Flower Town to be as dead as before.”

In a trance, Carter responded a few seconds later. “My lord, I seem to see the earl when he was still an ambitious viscount. He became an earl in five years and established his reign over Coral Island. The people of Flower Town are lucky to have you as their lord.”

“Maybe.” Liszt was not hypocritical.

The report was thick but did not have much content. Although the words were small, few of them could be written.

“This kind of paper is too thick and lousy.”

“My lord, we don’t have much paper. Four-fifths of our storage has been consumed.”

“I know, I’ll work on it.” Inventing new paper was on Liszt’s agenda, as long as he found the time for that.

After half an hour, he remembered all the statistics of Flower Town.

There were eight villages in total.

The town had 257 households and 907 people. 41 households and 125 people were free folk, and the others were serfs.

Peanuton had 23 households and 92 people. All of them were serfs.

Mushroomton had 68 households and 211 people. All of them were serfs.

Tomaton had 30 households and 152 people. Ten households and 28 people were free folk, and the others were serfs.

Barleyton had 48 households and 155 people. All of them were serfs.

Wheaton had 101 households and 342 people. All of them were serfs.

Flower Farm had 21 households and 54 people. All of them were serfs.

Cow Farm had 18 households and 60 people. All of them were serfs.

The whole Flower Town had 584 households and 1973 people in total. Among them, 51 households and 153 people were free folk, and the others were serfs. On the castle’s side, there were ten servants, four squires, Goltai, Marcus, and Liszt, amounting to 17 people.

Goltai and Marcus had families, but they stayed in Coral City. They probably did not want to come, or maybe they would come a while later.

So, the total population of Flower Town was 1990.

Most of them were farmers working on barley, wheat, oats, tomatoes, mushrooms, peanuts, tulips, cows, and other livestock.

Only 7% of the population were artisans.

According to the statistics, there was a tailor shop, a blacksmith’s shop, a bakery, a mill, a grocery store, a leather store, a barber’s shop, and a locksmith’s shop.

The census is detailed enough. The mission should be accomplished now, Liszt thought as he pushed the stinky paper away.

At this moment, Carter approached. “My lord, great news. The manager of Flower Farm is here to report something wonderful.”

Liszt’s eyes glittered when he heard the words Flower Farm. He knew that it was probably the reward of the mission. “Where is he? Bring him over. What’s it about?”

“It’s a black tulip that has never been seen before. My lord, I’ll bring him over.”