The Apothecary Diaries Book 11

From the Capital

Word that a major insect plague had broken out in the western capital had arrived ten days and four hours ago. As he listened to the panicked messenger's report, Lahan had pondered a miscalculation: the swarm had arrived at least two weeks earlier than he'd anticipated.

Now, in addition to his ordinary workload, he had to allocate support for I-sei Province as well. He would say that as a result, his work had increased by approximately forty-five percent.

"Those westerners need to get a hold of themselves," said Colleague No. 1, who resented the endless stream of work. This man was just six centimeters taller than average for his age bracket, but he'd been shot down by three successive court ladies on the grounds that he was "too uncouth." As the man smiled his slimy smile nearby, Lahan worked his mental abacus. He compared their countermeasures, their predicted numbers, to what they were seeing in reality; he had to figure out just how serious the miscalculation was and order more supplies to compensate. He figured there was a sixty percent chance that his superiors would tell him it was impossible.

Before Lahan was a letter ordering him to send emergency relief to the western capital. Easy for them to say—or, as the case may be, write. Those supplies didn't come out of nowhere. But he had been told to finagle some support, and finagle he would.

"Some bugs show up and they come running to us, begging for help? There's pathetic, and then there's pathetic."

Lahan tuned out Colleague No. 1's continued grumblings as he studied the stocks in the grain stores. The Moon Prince had bolstered the stockpiles by raising the annual tribute last year, and it made their own stores the logical place to start looking for provisions to send.

"Sir Lahan, may I punch that guy?" asked Colleague No. 2. Colleague No. 1 was not aware, perhaps, that No. 2 came from I-sei Province. He had black hair and eyes, like any other full-blooded man of Kaou, but his nose was some six millimeters higher than average, the lines on his face three millimeters deeper.

"I'd rather you not. Without you here, my work will increase by another twenty percent."

Lahan was not the type to speak ill about people—at least people other than his honored father, perhaps. The walls had ears, as the saying went—but that didn't stop Colleague No. 1 from continuing to heap abuse on the western capital.

Lahan straightened his papers, then clapped No. 1 on the shoulder and smiled. "If that's the way you feel, I'll take all the paperwork relating to the insect swarm off your hands. In exchange, handle these for me."

"Say what?"

Colleague No. 1 looked at Lahan in disbelief. The job Lahan handed him was related to a particular, high-ranking bureaucrat No. 1 was looking to buddy up to. Specifically, he was the father of the next lady this colleague had in his sights. After being relentlessly teased at the last banquet about his three consecutive romantic failures, he was getting desperate.

"Yeah, okay, fine. But you owe me one," Colleague No. 1 said.

Lahan kept his peace; he only continued smiling. Owe him, indeed. As a matter of fact, he'd corrected Colleague No. 1's slipshod paperwork on forty-nine separate occasions in the past. In his mind, the ledger now read forty-eight.

Colleague No. 1 went out looking very pleased, although Lahan wasn't sure why. The particular official in question was notorious for churning through staff. Lahan had never known one of his adjuncts to last longer than three months before the man drove him out—and he was sure No. 1 didn't have it in him to hold out even that long. Lahan would be surprised if he hadn't quit in six days. Why six? Because every sixth day was Colleague No. 1's day off.