Chapter 10
Chain barely slept through the night, concerns flitting around her like spiteful demons. Tossing and turning in a feeble attempt to force rest, the night crawled past. She gave up at dawn and instead watched Sol rise over Buckle's roofs, waiting only because she had to.
Carmen stirred when Chain dressed: she shared a room with Chain as the designated Contegon home wasn’t built for a family, and Bracket needed her own room. Even then, her daughter had begun to outgrow her bed, and there was no room for one that would suit her.
Maybe it was tiredness, or wanting to be distracted, but Chain stopped and watched her sleeping daughter. She looked so beautiful, so peaceful. Thankfully, she shared few physical characteristics with her father, sparing Chain being reminded of Wasp each time she looked at Carmen. Her brains, her brightness, was from him though: she herself had always been a little dull, inflexible, but Carmen was interested by everything and anything, hating nothing that she'd learned of so far, not even the Disciples.
Those feet hanging over the bed’s edge proved that Bracket's time in this house was coming to an end: soon, Carmen would spend her days at school, so she would need less care, and would need a room of her own. Bracket had built a life in Buckle, so she wouldn't move back to Aureu, but she would have to find or build somewhere to live. Perhaps she'd move in with whoever she was seeing, the man she thought she kept secret. Regardless, things would soon change, and Chain found herself angry and hurt at this.
“I hope you're never as inflexible as me, Carmen,” she whispered.
Carmen turned over in her sleep, smiled slightly. Any hint of a negative emotion was blown from Chain.
Bracket left her room at the same time Chain did. When she saw Chain, she jumped back. “Lun be damned! Chain, you nearly scared the blood out of me.”
“Sorry,” Chain said, though she couldn't help smirking.
Bracket blew air out through a smile. She was wearing clothes she had brought with her when she moved, fine materials that had been patched many times. “I haven't started breakfast... Wait, is everything okay?”
Chain shook her head. “It might be nothing. But I won't be here for breakfast.”
Her friend licked her lips, took a deep breath. “All right. There might be leftovers from last night you can take with you?”
“That'd be good.”
One hurriedly-made sandwich and a handful of grapes later, Chain was marching across Buckle. Sol cast long shadows as though to obscure her passage with the last of his strength. She looked west and saw Lun's tip peeking above the forests. A shudder convulsed her, nearly made her drop the last of her grapes.
There was something wrong in the Family Mine, Chain was certain of it. Side had no reason to lie, not when it was so easy to disprove. Besides, her brain offered at last, hadn't Tissue said something similar? Chain stopped, slapped herself on the forehead: that was why she'd been so concerned after that trip! Tissue had said the Mine was doing incredibly well, but Par's documents showed no increase. She hated herself for not forging the facts sooner.
Finishing her grapes, she jogged to Grain's house. Like each Station in Buckle – Doctor, Merchant, and Contegon – the Clerics had a home purpose-built for them. Each was in an opposite quarter of the small town, mimicking Aureu's layout, but Buckle's expansion had insulated them with newer homes. The Contegon and Cleric homes were at opposite ends of old Buckle, meaning it was the longest journey.
Amber light poured over her when she got to Grain's home, giving her a clean viewing of the immaculate Cleric outpost. Of course, Clerics spent every penny allocated for maintenance: the walls’ brickwork was pristine, and the front door was painted the red and white of Cleric robes. Thick windows pierced the walls at regular intervals, their frames clean, freshly-painted.
Chain felt a little of what the Stationless must feel on seeing it: intimidation at the Clerics' organisation and efficiency. 'Be sure you are as well-considered as this home before you enter,' it seemed to say. The moment passed. She bashed on the front door.
Movement upstairs, a heavy-footed trudge she followed down. Chain squared her shoulders when the presence approached.
“Calm down, whoever you are,” Cleric Grain said. She was about Chain's age, but a life indoors, battling nothing more strenuous than a complicated form, had made her look much younger. “It's still too early for knocking like that. Come back in an hour, I might be ready then.”
“Cleric, it is Contegon Chain Justicar. I am here to see you now.”
“Chain? What is so important it can't wait?”
She leant forward. “Something too important to discuss on the streets.”
Grain opened the door a crack. Wary, young eyes peered through. “All right, all right, whatever you say, sire. It will take me a few minutes to get ready.”
“Why?”
Grain coughed. “I'm not dressed, sire.”
Chain tried not to look surprised. “Very well. Hurry.”
The Cleric closed the door. A flurry of activity followed, strange clicks and dragged furniture. The Cleric wasn't just concerned about her nudity. Chain listened closely but couldn't tell what was happening. Grain then ran upstairs, presumably to get dressed.
Chain rested against the Cleric's home and watched Buckle stir. The Stationless were out already, taking clothes from drying lines or collecting dew and rainwater. When they saw Chain, they waved hesitantly. Chain returned each wave curtly.
Stomps rolled down the building. The front door opened a minute later. She took a deep breath when she thought Chain had left, but then looked to her right and saw the Contegon leaning against her wall.
“Come on in, Contegon,” Grain said, waving her in with a hard face.
Without speaking, Chain followed Grain inside. The Cleric made a point of closing the door behind them, locking them away from the world.
Grain's home, after that hurried tidy-up, was a neat tribute to structure: two desks dominated this first room, one for accepting requests from petitioners, and another for fulfilling them; twelve neatly-arranged oak filing cabinets, three in each corner of the room, contained historical requests, fulfilments, and reports; and there were curtain rails around the ceiling to allow a petitioner privacy if they wanted. A staircase rested at the back of the room, along with doors to the Cleric's private office and kitchen.
“Which desk should I sit at?” Grain asked. Her blond hair hung at erratic angles, her calm smile missing.
“Neither. May we enter your private office?”
Grain's eyes narrowed. “Why?”
“I need to discuss a matter of reporting with you,” Chain said, a little put out by Grain's question. “Particularly, how you measure the Family Mine's output.”
“We can do that out here,” Grain said, waving her hands with casual dismissal. “Lun, I don't know why you'd need to come out so early just to ask how I monitor Par.”
Chain didn't reply, merely waited for Grain to fill the silence.
“I rely on Par's figures,” she continued. “I'm a Cleric, not a Merchant, so I can't dig into what he does. He provides signed-off documents which give the Mine's output in Circles – an estimate based on Curtail's Standard Model – and I record them. Once a year, on a date the Merchant won't be prepared for, I check his paperwork, but that's it.” She added, “The process is much like that I use with Marsh and yourself.”
Chain sucked air through her teeth, unimpressed. “I hadn't realised the Merchants still had such autonomy in matters of taxation.”
“What's going on, sire?” Grain asked.
“I can't say. Not yet. Can you show me Par's figures from the last six months?”
“Contegon,” Grain said after a deep breath, “if there's some concern about irregularity in the reports then that should be taken up with Par, not me.”
“Humour me,” Chain said. Her tone made it clear this wasn't a request.
Grain opened her mouth to say something, but thought better of it. Re
luctantly, she went to her private office. To get in, she opened the door as little as possible, and slipped her body through the narrow space.
Chain stepped toward the Cleric's office and listened carefully, wanting to know what the Cleric was hiding. Rustling paper and cabinet drawers slamming closed floated through the door. Grain whistled as she searched, “Sol is Bright and Fearless,” one of the Lords' newer hymns.
Chain was about to knock, ask why it was taking so long, when Grain squeezed back through. She looked up, saw the Contegon's quizzical expression, then laughed. “I'm in the middle of a great reorganisation, sire,” she said. “Cleric Councillor Pale initiated a new filing system for Mining Towns, so I've got papers and scrolls everywhere. It's such a mess I'm ashamed to show it to anyone.”
“Did you find the reports amongst that... mess?”
“I did,” Grain replied, handing Chain a wad of papers.
Chain gestured to Grain's desks. “Mind if I take a seat to read through these?”
Grain looked between Chain and the desk twice before shrugging. “It's a little unusual, but I suppose there's no reason why not. Do you mind, in turn, sire, if I make myself breakfast as you search through those papers for... well, whatever you're after?”
Chain nodded.
As Grain entered her kitchen – which she didn't guard like her private office – Chain went through Par's reports. Side had said the last five or six months had been better than ever, and that particularly this month would be excellent. She spread the reports out on the clear desk, in chronological order, and placed her copy of this month's predicted output at the end.
The Family Mine had produced around nine hundred Circles a week, or three and a half thousand a month, for about a year. Chain knew Merchants sometimes held back one month's excess so they had a reserve to cover unexpected losses, so the first month of Side's testimony could be ignored... but not the next five.
Each total was signed by the Merchants below Par. Chain checked these signatures, and found them the same as in previous months, so they hadn't been faked. But hadn't Par's team changed last year, when a wave of Miner's Flu crippled Hold and Cress? Could Par have faked the new Merchant's signatures since they came in, having never told them their duties involved checking his reports? Chain resolved to speak with Tissue and her counterpart, Art, about these reports.
“Is everything in order, sire?” Grain asked. She entered her petitioning room eating a combination of cream, baked cereals, and fruits with a dessert spoon.
“Whose responsibility is it to ensure a Merchant given a new duty is told about that duty?”
Grain crunched away at her breakfast, and then swallowed. “Generally, the Merchant in charge of them. If their duty feeds directly into the Clerics, the local Cleric would be required to explain it. Why?”
Chain didn't say why. As she stood, it was difficult to keep her voice level. “Thank you, Grain. I'd ask you not to share this conversation, and the information I asked for, with anyone.”
Grain put her spoon down into her breakfast. “I'd like to do that, Contegon, but I'm duty-bound to let Par know you're investigating his Station.”
Chain frowned. “Why in the name of Lun would you do that?”
“Because you don't have the authority to do anything other than raise your concerns to him or myself. Perhaps Muster, if you really must,” Grain said with a shrug. “The Mine's output is a Merchant matter, not a Contegon one.”
“I am responsible for running this town, Cleric.” She wanted to mention her authority in taxation matters, but that would give away her concerns.
Grain walked across and put her bowl on the desk Chain sat at. “And I am responsible for the administration of Buckle, just as Par is responsible for providing a return on the investment which built it. As a Cleric, I'm must ensure you don't poke your nose into the activities of other Stations, wasting your time and theirs, without good cause.” Her relaxed demeanour disappeared and anger replaced it. “Unless you have evidence of wrong-doing or tax avoidance, I don't see that you have good cause.”
Chain stood face-to-face with the Cleric. “What are you hiding, Cleric?”
Grain stared back defiantly. “Nothing. But the Lord Councillor himself has recently sent an edict to remind us that no one should overreach their Station. I am merely enforcing that. I can provide you a copy of said edict, if you wish, Contegon?”
She looked the Cleric up and down, sizing her like an opponent. By invoking Lord Councillor Blind, the Cleric had won on a matter of procedure... which, she supposed, would always be the case. “I'll return when I have something more concrete then.” It would do no good to antagonise the Cleirc, even if she were perhaps a part of a conspiracy to skim Circles, so she added, “Forgive me, I am just concerned that something... Heretical is happening in Buckle.”
Grain brightened, like a match flaring to life. “Oh, don't worry about it Contegon. Your pursuit of Heretics is well-known.”
Chain laughed the barb off. “I suppose it is. Good day, Cleric.”
“Good day, Contegon,” Grain replied, picking her bowl back up. She watched Chain leave, not once blinking or turning away.