IGMS Issue 8 (13 page)

Tip Two: Plan for Taxes

The Dragon King will always demand his share, but you need to remember: it's your hoard, not the king's. There are legitimate deductions you can take to reduce the amount you pay in taxes.

For example, did you know that knight insurance can be written off as a legitimate expense? Defending yourself against those pests in plate-mail is something that happens in the ordinary course of business. A good knight-insurance policy will cover not only dents in your scales and arrows through your wings, but also full reimbursement for any treasure you have to give out to make the knight go away.

Also, many dragons forget that alternative forms of income, such as virgin sacrifices, are taxable, too, and they get a nasty surprise when the tax bill arrives. Plan to set aside some treasure to cover those unexpected extra taxes.

Tip Three: Keep Good Records

In case of a tax audit, you need to have good records. But that's not the only reason.

Imagine the following scenario. You swoop down out of the sky onto some innocent village. Your teeth and talons are sharpened. Your breath is smoky fresh. But before you can rend flesh from bone and set the buildings ablaze, some village elder comes out with documentation showing they sacrificed a virgin to you earlier in the year. It's enough to make you slink away with your tail dragging in the mud.

You can avoid such embarrassment by recording all of your income, including sacrificial virgins. Note down the amount, the source, and the date.

Good recordkeeping also allows you to be more proactive. For example, you may notice that a particular village is late in offering a sacrifice. Then it's your choice whether to demand an immediate sacrifice or to wreak havoc on the village.

Tip Four: Hire a Good Accountant

Maybe you're just too busy. Or maybe you're bad at math. For whatever reason, you may decide to hire an accountant rather than do the work yourself. Generally, you have two options when it comes to hiring an accountant.

A dragon accountant can be expensive, although he usually pays for himself through tax savings.

For the more cost-conscious dragon, a smarter choice is to find a human accountant who will gladly do all your accounting without charging you a single copper, simply in return for not being eaten. Over the long term, the savings can really add up.

"That's the end," I said after I finished reading the brochure. The echo of my voice faded away inside the cave.

"I'd never realized the advantages," said the dragon. Its black tongue flickered out to moisten its scaly lips. "After I eat you, I'll have to find myself an accountant."

I cleared my throat. "By sheer coincidence," I said, "it turns out that I'm an accountant. That's why I happened to have the brochure with me."

"An accountant?" The gold and jewels of the dragon's hoard sparkled as he snorted flame. "The village elders claimed you were a virgin!"

"Strange as it may seem," I said, "the two are not mutually exclusive."

"Oh," said the dragon. "Well, then, I suppose you'll do. You'll work for not being eaten?"

"I would find that quite satisfactory," I said. "Plus, there's a substantial tax benefit to you, because an uneaten virgin sacrifice doesn't count as income. Now, let's review your financial situation. I'll need to see your tax returns for the past three years, your current knight insurance policy . . ."

"But I don't have a knight insurance policy," said the dragon.

"Really? You're in luck." With a broad smile, I reached into my pocket. "I just happen to have a brochure with me called
Insurance for Dragons
."

"Damn heat," Jacob muttered, as overhead the sun bleached the sky, claiming temporary victory in its immemorial battle with darkness. He leaned forward on his chaise and lit a brown Turkish cigarette, an old addiction that refused to kill him. He was too old to care. He'd stopped counting birthdays after fifty-nine and was convinced that death kept him at arm's length just for spite. If God possessed an ounce of mercy, he would have taken Jacob by now, but Jacob knew the Devil had right of first refusal and evil's patience had no limit.

A screaming child shattered the surface of the pool. The kid's parent, a stooped man with frazzled hair and dead eyes, hovered close as if expecting disaster. It's a sin to bring kids into this world, Jacob thought. What future did they have anymore? He spied one of the cabana boys and waved his empty scotch glass. "And be quick about it," he told him. "The first three are wearing off."

In the pool, the splashing kid swallowed a mouthful of water and flailed away as if drowning. The father grabbed the kid by the arm and pulled him to the steps, ignoring the offered assistance from a middle-aged woman in a pink bathing cap and matching sunglasses. The woman shrugged and continued her journey around the pool, collapsing on the empty chaise next to Jacob in a muddle of paperbacks and sunscreen.

"My Lord it's hot," she said, in perfect Middle American. "I wanted to escape the cold, but this is ridiculous."

Jacob closed his eyes. Maybe if he ignored her.

"Looks like you're enjoying it though," she went on. "My ex used to go on about global warming and I'd tell him he was nuts. Now look at the world. Is it true what they said on the news? Did another polar ice cap break away?"

Yeah, lady, Jacob thought. The earth is melting and the days are getting hotter and the nights blacker and it's all thanks to those wonderfully toxic gases we belch into the air.

The woman continued unfazed. "I have a brother who lives on the Outer Banks and they swear the beach is creeping up to their bungalow. What a world we live in."

You don't know the half of it, Jacob thought.

A rogue cloud blurred the sun and cast a long shadow across Jacob. He had a sudden feeling of disconnection, as if the world had shifted on its axis. Across the pool, a wiry gray-haired man in thick, black glasses shuffled towards one of the umbrella'd tables. A thin moustache curled like a caterpillar over his lip and he had on a white robe with the hotel's crest embroidered on its breast. Scuffed sandals on his feet indicated either a certain frugalness in the man or that he had traveled far. Jacob knew both to be true. The cloud moved on, but the man remained in shadow. He looked over at Jacob and smiled.

The woman prattled on. "I'm from Minnesota," she said. "Just got in this morning. I tell you, I don't know how the airlines keep running. Three hours to get through security, then a six-hour flight without so much as a bag of peanuts. So are you American?"

"Lady," Jacob said. "Would you please shut the hell up."

Evening descended upon the island. Back in his room, Jacob unpacked his last suitcase. He'd unpacked the first two when he arrived, transferring clothes to the provided dresser, and books and writing implements to the desk by the window. At that time, there'd been no need to unpack the third. Now he spun the rusted tumblers on the black valise and let the locks snap open. Inside were two guns. He placed one under the mattress and the other beneath the cushion of the couch.

Afterwards, he went down to the Tiki bar with its smoldering torches and scowling waiters. He took a seat on one of the stools and nodded to Fred the bartender, who assembled him a Manhattan. Fred made a lousy drink, but possessed a disinterested nature.

To the right of the bar sat a palm-lined patio. The wiry man from the pool, now adorned in a wrinkled linen suit and blue sneakers, sat at a table in urgent conversation over umbrella drinks with Ms. Minnesota. Candlelight played off their faces, his dead white, hers wildly sunburned. They made a clichéd couple, the skinny hen-pecked husband and his over-bearing wife, though nothing could have been further from the truth. Jacob imagined them discussing the sorry state of the planet and how environmental shift wasn't really all that bad and wasn't the drainage plan they'd devised to save New Orleans from more Post-Katrina misery a marvel of engineering design? Jacob's curiosity overcame him and he took his drink to a table close by and listened.