A day later, Fiona went along with Greg to the bank, where she knew that she was going to have to dig deep into the savings she had that she normally set aside for fun stuff. Nights in the town, treating hot guys–or chicks, as might be the case–and wish list items like the jacuzzi she wasn’t getting any time soon.

  Today, she found herself in this stone abomination of a building, tapping her fingers impatiently on a mass-produced desk that looked like it came from a bargain bin store. And it was a desk that was already well-used. The banker, a tall avian female with white feathers, a dress blouse, and black slacks gazed at the papers with piercing blue eyes, and frowned as she pulled open a few folders. The rustling of crisp pages only served to irritate her. This place needs digital banking! Why haven’t they gotten that here yet? Oh right, a faraway world where tech and magic overlap.

  “Miss Swiftheart? Thank you for being patient, but I need to speak to my manager. According to this record, your account is on hold,” the secretary said with a tap of her clawed fingers on her desk. She didn’t look thrilled about this either. And if she wasn’t happy, the wood creaking with the force Fiona pressed her fingers into the desk edge was a bad sign for the world, too.

  Greg put a reassuring hand on her shoulder and reminded her that she should focus on not losing her cool. She let out a measured breath, and smoothed her frizzy hair behind her ears. “I’m sorry, why is my account on hold? I have a rather significant business purchase I need to make, and it’s a time-sensitive matter.”

  “I would not know. The manager would. Please excuse me.” the secretary got up with a click of clawed feet and vaulted up to the second floor with a flap of her massive black wings. The motion sent Fiona's hair flying, and she had to fix it again.

  “Barry is behind this,” Fiona snarled.

  “Fiona, account holds can happen for a variety of reasons,” Greg assured her. “It might be someone who tried to take your money, tried to impersonate you, or tried to cash a bad check, or even a clerical error. Please don’t jump to conclusions.”

  “I can smell the grease coming off of his hands on this one, Greg,” she said through gritted teeth. “You think after what he did, he’d stop being a scummy ruler willing to break all the rules?”

  “Fiona, this might be bordering on paranoid–” he started to say, but there was a flutter of massive wings. Two avians descended to the floor in a delicate arrival on the polished dark marble. Fiona brushed away an iridescent black feather that landed in her hair. The banker was a slightly older bird with a faint gray feather mask on his face, along with piercing golden eyes, and adorned in a fancy white jacket and leggings. He reached out a clawed hand and winced when Fiona shook his hand with a crushing grip.

  “Miss Swiftheart, my apologies for this mix-up. There appears to have been a mishap on the registry floor. Your money is safe and secure with us, and our relayed banks throughout the Unified Kingdoms,” he assured her with a light bow. “This was a clerical error, nothing more. Someone had tried to transfer funds out of the kingdom, and they locked out the wrong account. We should be able to clear this matter soon.”

  “Oh, that’s wonderful to hear!” Fiona said with a measure of relief. “How long before I can make a withdrawal?”

  “Oh, not long. A few weeks.”

  Greg held a blank stare with the secretary, and Fiona’s jaw opened and her eyes bulged at this inconvenient news. Smashing time was imminent now, and she wanted to give these thieving magpies a second chance–which was ironic, because they almost did look like magpies. “Mister…” she looked for a name tag on the manager, but none was present.

  “Daveston,” he answered with a slight nod. She uncurled her fingers slowly.

  “Mister Daveston, here’s the situation. I have a tax problem. I need to sell my stuff. I need capital funds to open a retail space, along with my associate Bonnie. I need these funds today, because the window on prime real estate space is going to close. I doubt I’ll get another opportunity for this real estate space if I don’t get a down payment today.”

  The old bird shook his head. “I’m sorry, Miss Swiftheart, I do apologize for the inconvenience. We can withdraw a small portion of the funds. The rules stipulate…umm…” he trailed off as he read through a small arcanist pad in his possession, before frowning. “No more than five percent of the account.”

  “What?!” she shrilled. “I need way more than that, I need a deposit for a lease I'm taking out, plus a deposit for equipment and supplies for some renovation work, and other things. I can even give you an itemized breakdown.” She could handle this stuffy old bird, no problem! She just needed to find the root cause of this issue.

  This has all the hallmarks of that sleazy Barry. There is no way he’s outwitting me on this. She just needed to outthink him.

  The bank manager held up his hands in a light defensive way. “I am sorry, Miss Swiftheart, but the rules are clear. I understand your need for liquidity. Perhaps you could take out a loan? Given your standing and currently pooled gold, we could give you a credit line.”

  “I already owe gold to the taxman my literal soul, owing it to Hall Street? No thanks,” she uttered with fervor. Credit cards had been the bane of her previous existence. When snack time could be all the time, or girl's night out got out of hand, or she ordered stuff on Gammazon, she was way too careless with it. Damn it. Greg's right, I do have a spending problem.

  “Well, if that's not an option for you, then I'm not sure what we can do for you,” Daveston interrupted her thought and held a withdrawn look on his face. Meanwhile, she was ruminating on ideas. What do I do when a bank won’t give me my money? What would I do? Think, pop culture, what would I–

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  An idea came to mind. Greg knew it, because he shook his head nervously, like he had a muscle tic–especially when he saw the leering smile across her face. “Fiona, whatever you’re thinking, unthink it. It’s a bad idea,” he whispered next to her ear.

  She flicked his face with her ear tip as she shook her hair back into position, while he was looking around for the exits. Again. Tucker wasn’t even there this time! This was the best idea ever! Though, if this bluff didn’t work, she was going to be digging into her couch for an unimaginable amount of loose coins.

  “Mister Daveston, I'm the hero of Fiefdala. I risked my life to put a despotic dragon and his little commiserate kobold army along with it,” she said with a polite smile. “I fronted money to help do the right thing, and help bring this kingdom back from the brink. Without my help, this kingdom would have probably been torched, and you would be roast chicken by now.”

  “I do appreciate your efforts. Uh, truly, I do,” he stammered, but she smelled weakness. And she could hear it with her pointy, cute ears.

  “Do you? I mean, you just told me I couldn't take my money, which I'm legally allowed to take with a moment's notice, up to an amount of 100,000 gold, per the kingdom’s laws,” she said in a louder tone. She noted the casual interest from passersby, trying to do the same thing as her–their regular, day to day bank stuff. Greg was still shaking his head ‘No’. But then, a lightbulb went off for him, and then he nodded his head silently out of the corner of her eye.

  Yes.

  “Er, um…there are exceptions–”

  She smiled even more politely. Which for this bird, probably looked like the grin of a predator as deadly as her loveable cat at home. “Mr. Daveston, let's make this easy. I need thirty thousand of my currently deposited gold. And I intend to walk out with it today, because I have an appointment really soon,” she adds as Greg taps his watch in a subtle cue. “Now, you're a banker. You have to follow the rules. Yet, you are treating me like a criminal.”

  More heads pop up with interest, and the secretary is trying to cover for her boss, who doesn't remember his own rules. “Miss Swiftheart, please, you are making a scene. Can we take this to a private office, where we can hash this out?” the secretary suggested, with that nervous smile better suited for Greg.

  “Oh no, miss secretary bird. I'm the one who gets the kicks here,” she added with a grin. Time to go for the kill. “I want my money. You're trying to keep me from taking my money. You know what that's called? Bank theft.”

  It had gone awfully silent in the space around her, and people looked anxiously at the manager, who was now regretting enacting Raspberry’s evil design. “We were told the account, it was–well, there was a risk of currency leaving, untaxed–”

  “By whom? Oh, anonymous sources? Betcha I could find out who, someone whose name rhymes with Gary, right? I suppose it could have just been by accident. When you hold a bank account, they must file paperwork like who authorized the hold and its reasons. Papers that I am legally mandated to see, on-demand.” she leaned in, and gave him an edged smile.

  “The papers are uh–”

  “Delayed? Oh, I don’t want to wait for them. I want the proof you had due cause to hold my account or my withdrawal on this desk.”

  “But we can’t just–”

  “Mister Daveston, I want to withdraw my money, immediately, to the tune of thirty thousand gold or gold tender. I want it by the time I finish this courtesy cup of coffee your secretary brought me.” Fiona lifted the mug gently off the desk and drew a deep sip. “Or I can make a scene here that I don’t think you want to be privy to. Because you know I’m right. It could make your other clientele a little jumpy. A little scared, even. Know what they call that, when a bunch of people get scared, and pull all their money simultaneously?”

  She took another sip as that bird started sweating, and birds weren’t supposed to sweat. “A bank run. And if you don’t have enough cash to sustain that withdrawal–which you probably don’t, because you’re trying to breed gold with gold elsewhere with long-term investments–then you have a big problem.” She took another deep sip of coffee and smacked her lips. “You know something, this is some tasty coffee. Gotta quench that thirst for caffeine.”

  “You wouldn’t!” he whispered, eagle eyes wide with fear. She took another sip and emphasized how much she was enjoying it, and that magpie with the suit was adjusting his tie like it was choking him now.

  “If you’re willing to treat the hero of Fiefdala like this, people will ask how they’ll be treated.” She sipped the last dregs in the mug and licked her lips for emphasis. “Well, time’s up. Oh, hey everyone, guess what–”

  “Alright! Miss Pence, please go down to the vault, and make sure that Miss Swiftheart accounts for every copper herself!” He shrilled with a panicked look and thrust a key to the secretary on a ring of other keys.

  Finally, this guy caved. “Thanks a bunch, Mister Daveston, I love that customer service focus! Such a big emphasis on alacrity, it suits you!” she beamed, while Greg tried to keep his stern face. But a small smile cracked through.

  In the end, she counted out the cash and got her deposit. She sighed and realized that she still might have to raid the rest to come out of this intact, but for now, she’d do what she could. She walked out with a not-insubstantial pile of gold, and Greg puzzled over how she could carry so much. She shrugged and said she just worked out every day.

  “Were you really going to do it?” Greg asked as they left the bank to the afternoon sun starting to lower in the sky. Her lips turned downward as if he would believe she could do that.

  “Nah. That would have hurt a lot of people, Greg. I made a bluff. Thankfully he caved, because if he didn’t, I’d be pawning off my favorite armor sets to fund this,” she said with a sigh. “You know what this means, though. Raspberry is behind this. I might still have to pawn those off, too, or sell them in our future store. Not a moment I’m proud of, but…”

  “King Barry,” he corrected, though she also noted he rolled his eyes when he spoke that. “I don’t want to lend credit to your paranoia, Fiona. I think it was still a clerical error.”

  “A clerical error, with their emphasis on the relayed banking network being the bell of the ball? No way. Barry is the head executive officer of the country. Every lawman dances to his tune, whether it’s convenient for them or not.” He didn’t refute the statement–outright.

  “Maybe you have other enemies?”

  “How? Everyone loves me!” she countered. “Well, maybe not that snooty noble who didn’t like Tucker chewing on his barbeque in his fancy backyard, but Tucker was just hungry! I even offered to pay for it!”

  “Your lack of enemies must be truly insufferable,” he uttered with a crease of a smile barely visible.

  “Well, I mean, there’s a beaten-up dragon out there, who knows I took his stuff, and am liquidating his assets.” She stopped for a second and pondered it. “You think he’d have the daring to come after me in my own backyard after I trounced him that badly?”

  Greg sighed contently. “Fiona, I’m sure the dragon lord must be still licking his wounds. Anyone who goes up against you twice is either foolish or has a death wish.”