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One afternoon I was riding my royal horse through the dusty streets of the dirtiest village around. There was a market in the village today with all kinds of stuff for sale that us royal folk could afford millions of.

‘How much for everything on your stall?’ I asked the man that ran the meat stall.

I think people called him the butcher.

‘Two silver coins, kind Prince Jack,’ replied the butcher.

‘Here you go Sir,’ I said handing over two coins.

‘How much for everything on your stall?’ I asked the man that ran the bread stall.

I think people called him the baker.

‘Five silver coins, kind Prince Jack,’ the baker replied.

‘Here you go Sir,’ I said handing over five coins.

‘How much for everything on your stall?’ I asked the man that ran the fruit stall.

I think people called him Harold Fruit.

‘Ten silver coins, kind Prince Jack,’ Harold Fruit replied.

‘Here you go Sir,’ I said handing over ten coins.

Now it seemed to me as though the price was sneakily going up every time I visited another stall. But I didn’t mind. After all, there were enough coins in Mummy’s castle to buy everything from a million stalls. We had enough money to feed all of the poor people but Mummy refused to ever give anything away.

‘Everyone should pay more tax!’ she often said. ‘Anyone who can’t afford to pay me had better start working harder or they’ll be sent to my dungeons.’

Mummy was always happiest when she was taxing the poor or counting her riches.

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