The Chronicle of the Worthy Son

The Royal Chapter

The two donkeys slowed their trotting a good block before they needed to stop. The post-wagon hadn't gotten any lighter from the stop at the university half an hour ago, as just as many crates of letters were reloaded as unloaded. Able had huddled nonchalantly in the back and hoped no one noticed he was not getting out.

Not that the postmasters minded. Able had learned years ago that they were perfectly happy to let him ride along in exchange for a couple of his aunt's rolls and some cheese to munch on, and it didn't matter to them whether he got off at Fourwind Heights or the four miles further into Rainbow Hills.

This city not only supported the university but a military base, the estate and offices of the Viscount of Southern Shores, and a Royal Chapter. Throughout the empire, these records houses were regularly provisioned with copies of official documents, a design meant to increase access for clerks and scribes and decrease expenses for correspondence and records sharing. And Able took frequent advantage of it.

The donkeys finally halted and Able climbed out and thanked the postmen before making his way beneath the tall stone arch with its molded plaster and into the echoing halls. He could have made his way to the tax records wing in his sleep, but his heart raced out of step with the sedate atmosphere. He'd been preparing himself all morning for disappointment, even chiding himself for wasting time when the department needed him. But his body rebelled much as he did.

In the middle side office, he found the junior financial analyst Happy Penman idly twirling a pencil as he read a document at his desk. Penman readily looked up when Able knocked on the open door.

"Houser," Penman further colored this greeting with a nod and slow, mischievous smile. "Who are you looking for dirt on today?" If Able were to relate the exchange with Lord Orange's representative, Penman would squeal himself silly. Able'd share that when he was in less of a hurry.

"Not 'who,' exactly." He leaned on the chair before Penman's desk. "I'm wondering if there are any irregularities in the tax records coming out of Borealund."

"'Irregularities,' he says." Penman chuckled and shook his head. "I need to study your talent for understatement."

"It was unintentional." Able frowned to mask the exaltation stirring deep in his belly. "You've heard the rumors and looked into this already? What have you found?"

"Have I?" Penman dragged both syllables out. "What rumors, exactly, do you refer to?"

The man was a terrible gossip, but that was also his most useful quality. Able had learned to just play along. "Borealunder rebels seizing a collections convoy."

"Hmmm..." Penman nodded slowly. "I don't know if I can confirm that for you. Not the way you demand your confirmations, anyhow."

Able pulled the chair back and sat, leaning forward and trying to force the sort of rapt attention Penman was demanding onto his face. "Just tell me what you've learned?"

Penman smirked triumphantly and slid a sheaf of papers out from under a book on his desk. The thickness of it made Able's attention far less forced, as Penman clearly anticipated since he kept it carefully angled so Able couldn't read it.

"Right, so, freshly annexed territories typically take their time settling into regular seasonal collections, but we were four years in and still lagging severely. This could be because the magistrate, some freshly-titled Count Adeptson, simply doesn't know what he's doing..."

Able's eyebrows reached for the ceiling. Adept's son, meaning he was a bastard barred from inheriting his noble father's family name. Count was a peculiarly high office for such a person.